


Collision Course

by Lenny9987



Series: Lenny's Imagine Claire and Jamie Prompts [21]
Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-08-22 10:45:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8283062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenny9987/pseuds/Lenny9987
Summary: Prompt: Imagine Frank believing Mrs. Graham and going through the stones trying to find Claire, but he's the one that runs into Black Jack at the hill.





	1. Chapter 1

Frank lay awake at night. His bags were packed and waiting by the door. He was returning to Oxford in the morning and he would be returning alone.

He and Claire had only just moved into their house there—they hadn’t even begun to unpack the few boxes of possessions they had between them. Many of Claire’s things were still in her military trunk. There might be more things inherited from her Uncle Lamb than things belonging to Claire herself.

What was he going to do with it all? If she had left him for another man—as the police insisted on believing—she wouldn't have gone without taking a few mementoes of her uncle. Which only left so many options for what might’ve happened to her—and if the police were so adamant that someone would have found her body by now…

Mrs. Graham’s outrageous theory of the stones and their legendary powers came back to him. The car had been by the stones and it was the flowers right near the stones that Claire had been after. It was completely absurd to even consider it and yet… wouldn’t it be more absurd to ignore the possibility altogether? There had been many disappearances during the war—especially in his line of work—and there were a few of those that had explanations as difficult to swallow if you knew the natures of the agents involved. But he knew Claire far better than them… or he thought he had.

If Mrs. Graham’s theory _did_ prove valid, where might Claire have found herself? Would she have been able to survive in such an environment?

What would _he_ do in such a situation?

He liked to flatter himself that he would adapt quickly and easily—he _had_ made it his life’s work to study history, after all… so long as he found himself in a period he was familiar with, he would do fine. His intelligence training would help him the rest of the way, at any rate.

Hopefully he had passed enough of that knowledge on to Claire to be of service to her—assuming she had paid any attention.

He sighed. He should have gone with her that day. He should have made a bigger effort to try and get involved in the things she found interesting. Not that she had done much better when it came to his interests. They hadn’t realized until the war was over how much they had drifted apart during those years. But this unexpected—unnatural—separation had already made him more aware of how much of his marriage he’d taken for granted, how much more he would need to work to reclaim it when he finally found Claire again.

When he finally managed to sleep that night, his dreams were unsettling and restless. The druids dancing as dawn broke over Craig na Dun; the chill of the rain that last night walking back from Reg’s house to find Claire at Mrs. Baird’s; the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach as he and Reg approached the hill and found the car but not Claire.

He’d circled the stones looking for evidence of where Claire might have gone but in his dream he saw a scrap of cloth—part of a blanket shawl she had bought herself. The scrap was caught in the crack of the most prominent stone. He reached out to take the piece of cloth in hand, trying to pull it free. It pulled back on him until he placed his hand against the stone to increase his leverage. He pulled hard and this time it came free suddenly and with a scream. His momentum carried him backwards until he fell to the ground hard and woke with a jolt in his bed at the manse, the bedspread clutched tightly in his fist.

Mrs. Graham watched him warily over breakfast the following morning, like she had been able to see what had happened in his dreams too. He couldn’t meet her eye and had little stomach for the food, leaving the table early to bring his bags downstairs.

“Ye’re off then?” Reg commented, unable to find a comfortable position for his arms. After crossing them over his chest for a moment he switched to slipping his hands in his pockets and fiddling with a few coins of change therein.

“It’s a long drive ahead of me and I should like to do as much as I can today,” Frank explained.

“Give us a call when ye’ve reached a stopping point for the night,” Reg pressed him. “Or just when ye’ve reached Oxford and have settled in again. I’ll… I’ll keep ye apprised of any uh… developments; I’ll keep after the police. Something is bound to turn up sooner or later.”

Frank offered a weak but appreciative smile before shaking Reg’s hand goodbye. He could hear Mrs. Graham with Roger in the kitchen trying to get the boy to finish his meal so they could bid farewell to Mr. Randall. He slipped away before the older woman succeeded with the lad.

Still, he felt their eyes on him as he drove away and Mrs. Graham’s earnest assertions about the stones. _The truth as I know it_ , she’d said. _Certain people, on certain days… pierce the veil of time_ … _the travelers often return_.

Maybe he could summon Claire back somehow.

It wouldn’t take much to try and he had nothing to lose—there wouldn’t even be anyone around to see if it turned out to be a resounding failure but at least he would know he had tried _everything_.

He stopped the car part way up the hill—he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving where she had parked. He made the familiar movement to put the keys into his pocket but stopped, staring down at them for a moment before tossing them to the passenger’s seat beside his hat.

The countryside looked bleak and leeched of color at this time of year with winter settling in. The grass beneath his feet was damp with melting frost, the moisture causing bits of plant matter to stick to the leather of his shoes. He pressed on up the hill to the stone circle itself.

His mind immediately grasped at the familiar and safe associations of the standing stones. Pagan. Prehistoric. The stones would weigh several tons each and was most likely granite. Who moved them here, how, and the mechanics behind making them stand remained a mystery. It was most likely a site of worship or sacrifice—probably some combination of the two. But what kind of sacrifice?

The largest cleft stone drew his attention. The flowers at the base of the stone had already died off leaving shriveled leaves behind, an echo of the beautiful thing that had drawn Claire back.

“Claire,” he whispered, nudging the disintegrating plant with his toe.

He examined the crack in the stone with his eyes as a breeze brushed his cheek. The leaves on the branches of nearby trees remained calm but turning to the stone again a gust struck his face with enough force to ruffle his hair.

Swallowing, he reached out to stretch his hand through the gap in the stones avoiding contact with hard cold surface itself until a trembling took hold of his hand and shook it through to his bones. He moved to pull his hand back, bracing the other against the flat front of the stone itself.

“Claire!” he could feel himself screaming but couldn’t hear it over the cacophony around him. He closed his eyes and sought to cover his ears against it but in tore through him and left him lying on the ground feeling drained. He ached all over and lacked the energy and control to move. Finally he managed to gather enough power to blink and open his eyes.

It was cloudy—no great surprise. The air was chilly but there was no breeze in the branches above his head.

Oh, his head. He raised a hand to press against his skull but the movement only made the pounding worse. He rolled to one side and saw the stones rising around him, peering down at him, observing him. His stomach seized but he hadn’t put enough into it earlier in the day for it to matter.

Leaning on his arms, he rested his head against the cool ground and the pounding began at last to recede—at least enough for him to get his legs under him so he could rise and orient himself.

Scrambling unsteadily to the outer edge of the circle—avoiding any further contact with the stones—he came to rest against the trunk of a tree looking down the hill to the countryside beyond.

He couldn’t find his car—or the road for that matter. It didn’t prove anything though. Whatever had caused him to pass out—perhaps there was some sort of moss on the stones that was hallucinogenic in nature and… became effective through… tactile contact… somehow. He wasn’t ready to accept an impossible truth. Not when a walk might help to clear his thoughts and prove he’d simply been wrong about his position on the hill itself.

He removed his jacket before turning to the right and walking slowly in a circle around the top of the hill.

A pair of binoculars would be useful but he had to resort to pausing and squinting into the distance. There were roofs and thin trails of smoke rising here and there in the far distance but they were too far to make out much in the way of distinct characteristics about them. And he still couldn’t make out the road. And he hadn’t spotted the car anywhere when he came upon his jacket again.

Something had happened but there were still a great many unanswered questions. If he had “traveled” as Mrs. Graham termed it, what was the year? How might he discern whether this was the time Claire had arrived in as well?

He dashed up to the top of the hill again to stand within the circle and he began examining the ground.

It wasn’t caught in the crack of the stone as he’d seen in his dream but Frank did find a bit of the blanket Claire had bought during their time at Inverness. It was faded and damp. Grass had grown up around it helping to hold it in place, and clinging to it as Frank pulled it free, relieved when it didn’t pull back.

It might once have smelled like Claire but a strong whiff of mildew kept him from holding the blanket too close.

Still, he guffawed in triumph at having found it and moved back out to where he’d left his jacket. The landscape stretched out around him as he gave in to the impulse and called out, “Claire!” even as he knew she had left her blanket on the hill some time before—only the six weeks or had it been longer than that for her? Either way she wouldn’t be close enough to hear him. Looking at the serene land and mountains extending around him, he wasn’t sure anyone was near enough to hear him.

A flash of panic went through him alongside a pang of hunger.

He could do this. He could find himself something to eat—a few nuts or berries at least. Or he could start walking in the direction of the nearest rooftops he’d seen. He could inquire after Claire and beg a meal in one go.

As he bent to retrieve his jacket, he thought he heard a voice on the wind calling his name—Claire’s voice.

He bolted upright and called to her again.

“Claire!”

There was another noise in the distance—probably her struggling to make her way to him as well. He headed off in search of it but stopped in his tracks as he saw flashes of red amidst the dull wintery green of the field.

Soldiers. He was mesmerized as they advanced upon him. The uniforms showed those subtle variations in color and style that were characteristic of soldiers forced to supply their own which meant no mass-production and suggested they were from the eighteenth century.

Which meant _he_ was in the eighteenth century.

He glanced down at his own clothes. Hardly period appropriate but there was nothing to do about it now—they were too close.

“Is that—” one of the nearest men began before stopping in his tracks looking taken aback.

“C-c-c-captain?” another piped up, saluting. “Apologies, sir. We didn’t recognize you, sir.”

“If you’ll pardon me, sir, but I thought you stayed behind at the fort?”

“Captain?” Frank asked.

“Begging your pardon, Captain Randall, sir.”

The men were glancing with confusion amongst themselves. They had clearly mistaken him for someone—and someone named Randall, at that—but Frank couldn’t let his own confusion show or they would begin to grow suspicious.

“Soldier,” Frank barked to the nearest man while pulling himself up straight. “Make your report.”

“Sir,” he saluted. “We’ve not managed to come across the MacKenzie party, sir. And we’ve not been able to get anything out of the locals hereabouts either, sir. So we’ve nothing about that woman you’re wanting to find, sir. But we’ll keep looking, sir.”

“You soldier,” Frank addressed the next in line. This man was staring at Frank’s tie where it disappeared beneath his vest. Frank whistled between his teeth and the man raised his panicked eyes. “Review the description of the woman in question—let’s make sure you’ve got it right and that you’ve not been wasting everyone’s time.”

“Uh… English, sir. And brown hair—with curls. And she’s with the MacKenzie party that’s been coming through these parts, sir, after their chief’s rents so she’d be with the likes of Dougal MacKenzie  and that lot.”

It wasn’t much of a description to go on but Frank had to believe they were speaking of Claire.

“And did you tell these locals the reason behind your inquiries?” he pressed.

“Of course not, sir. Discretion as always, sir,” the man nearest him interjected.

Best not to press his advantage any further.

“Very well. Off with the lot of you then. Continue as you were. I want that woman found. Someone must know something,” he commanded, raising his voice.

A few of the men turned and began retreating the way they’d come but one of the others hung back a moment. “And what of _you_ , sir? Why’re you out of uniform?”

Another soldier stopped and turned to reconsider Frank and his attire. The fear, confusion, and habit of following orders were beginning to fade in the face of Frank’s unconventionality.

“And what’ve you done to your hair?”

“How’d you manage to get so far from the fort with not a one of us knowing or noticing?”

“You’ve not abandoned your post, sir.”

Frank swallowed and his pace quickened. They were armed, these soldiers—and numerous. He could make a run for it but wouldn’t get far. He could perhaps make it to the stones.

Before he could turn to even attempt running, one of the soldiers put a hand on his arm and began pulling him forward into the larger group.

“There’s something off about you, sir. Don’t know what you’re playing at… but I’m not afraid of you no more—or at least not now. And I’ll see you brought back to the fort so this can be sorted out by official means,” the man announced.

More hands took hold of Frank so that fleeing would be impossible.

“Unhand me,” he exclaimed and a few let go but only for a moment before their grips tightened. “I’ve no objection to going,” he tried to reason with them. “Remove your hands.”

“If you wish, _sir_.” It was impossible to miss the sarcasm underpinning the remark, or the snickers that followed. Of more immediate concern was the tip of the bayonet Frank felt pressing into his back.

He started walking with the soldiers surrounding him. A short distance away but hidden by the almost imperceptible swell of a nearby hill was a wagon and horses along with the few soldiers who had been left behind to guard them.

Frank was ushered into the back of the wagon while the soldiers around him untied their horses and swung up into their saddles.

It wouldn’t be long before Frank lost all his directional bearings—he couldn’t even picture where the road to Inverness had been—would be?

The nearest fort to Craig na Dun would have to be…

Fort William.

* * *

 

Claire wandered through the woods kicking at roots and stones in her path, fuming at being left behind.

It wasn't fair to blame Jamie for what had happened with the Red Coat deserters but since the alternative was to blame herself… She moved slowly enough for Willie to be able to keep an eye on her if he paid attention but she moved gradually further and further from where Jamie and the others had left them.

The woods began to thin and she could see a stretch of green field beyond the treeline. Her attention was caught by the sound of someone calling her name.

“Frank,” she said with quiet disbelief.

She moved closer to the edge of the trees but stopped suddenly and when she saw the familiar scarlet plumage of a troupe of Red Coats approaching the hill. Her eyes shot to the stones at the summit where a figure was making a circuit in decidedly anachronistic trousers, shirt, and tie, his jacket on the ground.

Claire had to bite her lip to keep from crying out a warning to him as he turned right into the company of soldiers. All appeared startled by the encounter but she couldn't make out anything that was being said. Terror rooted her to the ground.

It was definitely Frank. His hair was right, his clothes were right, he carried himself like Frank. But something was wrong too. She didn't feel relief that he was here. Had he actually come looking for her or had it only been an accident? Were they now both trapped here or could they return together?

Her heart seized painfully.

What about Jamie?

Her anger, frustration, and fear evaporated at the thought of what this would do to him, what he would think of her when he found out she was a bigamist, that her first husband was still alive. Tears filled her eyes at the thought of him being hurt and she hated herself already for being the cause of it.

The tears caused the scene before her to blur. When she had wiped them away she saw that something had changed on the hill. The soldiers had taken hold of Frank in a decidedly aggressive way and were leading him down the hill.

“There ye are, mistress,” Willie said behind her. “Ye weren’ supposed to wander--” He caught sight of the Red Coats and grabbed her arm, pulling her back into the deeper cover of trees. “Christ! We must go, now. I ken where their meeting was supposed to be. Hopefully they're through and we'll meet them on their way back. Dougal will want to put some distance between our party and theirs. Likely send you and Jamie on ahead to Leoch just to be safe.”

Willie had led Claire back to where their horses were hobbled and began untying them.

“They… they took someone away with them,” she muttered, surprised by how much fear was in her voice.

“Taking ‘im to Fort William, no doubt,” Willie said with obvious pity for the stranger. “Lucky it wasn't one of us they spotted and decided to cause trouble for. Jamie would ne’er forgive me did I let something happen to you. I don't know that he’d even take the time to give me the clout on the head I’d deserve before heading off after you.”

Mounted, they began making their way through the underbrush in the direction Jamie, Dougal, and the others had taken earlier. At the suggestion that she and Jamie might be sent ahead to Leoch, a desperate idea began to take shape. She owed it to Frank to try and help him but first she owed Jamie the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

Jamie went red when he saw Claire and Willie riding up to meet them then pale as he heard how close they’d come to encountering the Red Coat patrol.

“It willna do to be encountering another similar patrol,” Dougal declared. “Not wi’ the pair of ye wi’ us. Did ye recognize the bloke they took wi’ ‘em?” he asked Willie. “Wasna one of our crofters was it?”

Willie shook his head. “No one I’ve laid eyes on before. Might ha’ been a traveler of some kind––a peddler perhaps, though I didna see a cart.”

“I want to get Claire safe away to Leoch,” Jamie announced to Dougal who was already nodding his agreement.

“Aye. Take Murtagh with ye,” he ordered, knowing there was little chance the man would leave his godson’s side regardless. “We’ll finish gathering the rents and shouldna be more than a week or two behind ye. Ye’ve learned all ye can from Horrocks, that waste of time and space.”

Claire kept quiet until they had all mounted their horses and the party had formally split and parted ways. She deliberately slowed her horse and glanced back towards Craigh na Dun and the direction the Red Coats had dragged Frank.

“Ye were right, mo nighean donn,” Jamie said in a conciliatory manner. “Ye should ha’ come wi’ me. To think ye came so close to Red Coats…” He shook his head with disgust. “Can ye forgive me, lass?”

Claire stopped her horse and took a deep breath.

“Secrets, not lies, right?” she asked, waiting and watching him as his brow creased, the set of his mouth hardening with wariness.

“Aye…”

“I probably should have told you this before we were married but I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.” She scoffed. “You still might not but I don’t see a way around it now.”

Murtagh noticed Jamie and Claire had fallen behind and turned back to inquire as to the hold up.

Jamie deferred to Claire but was clearly prepared to send Murtagh further ahead as a scout.

She sighed. “There won’t be time to go through it all again. If you trust him––”

“With my life and yours,” Jamie interrupted firmly.

“Then he might as well stay and hear this too.”

* * *

The officers in the yard couldn’t hide their surprise as Frank was led into the fort.

“Best bring him up to Captain Randall’s office,” one of the men instructed Corporal Dawkins. “Must be a cousin or something of the sort,” he then murmured to a neighbor.

Frank kept silent, his training kicking in. What he couldn’t control was the way his heart pounded and his palms sweat. He had overheard the references to Captain Randall and knew they could only be talking about his ancestor. It was an unusual and unexpected opportunity and he was unable to think of a single thing to say despite the myriad of questions he’d had in the course of researching the man. It simply wouldn’t do to ask, “How do you come by the nickname ‘Black Jack’?” or “Are you really an agent of the Duke of Sandringham or do you have a different patron?” Similarly, he couldn’t give away anything he knew that hadn’t happened and as yet he had no idea of what the date might be––obviously it was before the ‘45, so somewhere between 1739 and 1744…

The corporal pushed him through a door into a dark office.

“Captain Randall will be with you shortly,” he was informed. The corporal swallowed uncomfortably and his head bobbed nervously.

“Thank you,” Frank said crossing to take a seat opposite the desk. He dusted off his pants and sat down leaning back and propping one foot on his other leg casually. The corporal made an odd noise behind him and Frank cleared his throat as he readjusted his posture. The instincts of his twentieth century training nudging him in the right direction but he had followed those instincts too far and he’d committed an anachronistic mistake.

A moment later the door closed behind him and he heard the latch fall into place. Waiting three beats to be sure, Frank leapt to his feet and circled the desk moving as lightly as possible.

There weren’t many papers on the desk but he did manage to ascertain he was sometime in 1743. Claire. The soldiers near that hill had mentioned a woman. He had to see if there were any references to a woman that might be Claire. He had to find her.

There was one message that had been crumpled and torn into near unreadability. All he could make out was that it had been signed by a Dougal MacKenzie, the war chief of Clan MacKenzie. Whatever news the message had carried had not been well received.

He put the correspondence down to better examine his surroundings––it wouldn’t do to become so engrossed in the materials on the man’s desk and have no greater understanding of his physical surroundings. Frank had visited Fort William several times during the course of his academic research before the war. Seeing it as a functioning fort after his own wartime experiences changed the way he looked at the space.

He crossed to the windows behind the desk. They opened inward and were at least two stories above the stone courtyard. Peering into the yard, which was only illuminated by the light of a few torches and the moon peeping in and out from the passing clouds, Frank could just make out the shape of the post used for flogging prisoners and insubordinate soldiers. There would be no escape through the windows. He would have to find some way to talk or fight his way out.

One man alone in the room shouldn’t be a problem if he could arm himself effectively and as long as he only encountered the guards outside one at a time he stood a chance against them as well.

But he couldn’t leave until he knew what had happened to Claire.

He began searching for items that might serve as effective weapons. The fire poker was too large to conceal. He rifled through the desk drawers in search of a letter opener. Instead he found a rope––not long enough to get him out the window and safely down.

Before he could cross to the cabinet and explore its contents, he heard footsteps in the hallway and was forced to quickly drop the rope back in the drawer and resume his seat.

The corporal held the door as Captain Randall entered and Frank immediately understood his captors’ earlier confusion at the hill. Aside from the clothes, length of their hair, and general way of carrying themselves he might as well be looking into a mirror. Luckily he wasn’t the only one taken aback.

“Remarkable,” Captain Randall said, recovering first and taking the opportunity to loom over Frank. “You look more like me than my own brothers. What was it you said your name was? Was he attempting to claim some relation to me?” he asked the corporal.

“Went along with them that thought he was you at first, sir,” the corporal responded. “Didn’t give a proper name after that.”

“Thank you, Corporal. I believe I know exactly who this man is. Would you mind holding your weapon on the prisoner for a moment––at the very least he can be charged with impersonating an officer but I suspect there’s more to the story than that and I intend to get to the bottom of this mess.”

Captain Randall moved to his desk and removed several items: the rope, a straight-edge razor––the same one Frank had packed in his suitcase with the rest of his shaving kit––and a napkin. With a sneer that made Frank’s blood chill, Captain Randall began to tie Frank to his chair wrapping the thick rope around his middle and the back of the chair, the captain then crossed to his cabinet where he removed several shorter and thinner cords with which he fastened Frank’s wrists to the arms of his chair and then his ankles to the legs. Frank put up a little struggle over his feet being tied and received a sharp blow to his solar plexus in return. Perhaps he had underestimated what an eighteenth century captain in the British Army would and wouldn’t find appropriate as far as interrogation.

“Thank you, Corporal,” Captain Randall said testing Frank’s bonds. “You may go stand guard at the end of the hallway. I will come fetch you if I need you again.”

The corporal shouldered his weapon and saluted his superior officer before leaving the room. As he closed the door behind him, Frank caught a sympathetic yet powerless glint in the young man’s eye.

Captain Randall sat at his desk and slowly went through all the documents, no doubt guessing Frank had rifled through them earlier.

Frank knew he should remain silent, force the other man to speak first but the injustice and indignantly of his position was too much.

“I wasn’t aware such measures were permitted by the British Army with regards to British citizens,” he remarked in his crisp accent. He didn’t struggle against his bonds.

Captain Randall smiled. “It is no more than precautionary when that same British citizen is suspected of being a French spy. Do you not agree… Frank?”

Frank didn’t flinch but he could tell from Captain Randall’s obvious pleasure that he had given something away to confirm the captain’s suspicions.

“I figured you must be Frank given you were found in the same general vicinity as this young woman.” Captain Randall spread the napkin before Frank. It was a sketch of Claire. Frank had been able to keep some level of control before but he lost it at the sight of Claire’s likeness––someone in the fort had been close enough to Claire long enough to capture her in remarkable detail and once again, the satisfaction on Captain Randall’s face led Frank to believe it was him.

“What have you done with her?” Frank demanded pulling hard against the ropes––they bit into his wrists and he could tell he was beginning to lose circulation in his feet. “Where is she?”

Captain Randall grinned and moved the napkin back out of Frank’s line of sight before rising and removing his red coat. He walked around his desk after draping the jacket over the back of his chair.

“It would seem your… accomplice… arrived at your rendez-vous point a few weeks early––or perhaps it was that you were late,” Captain Randall goaded. Frank held his tongue––not willing to risk giving anything away that might put Claire in greater danger.

Captain Randall continued. “Your accomplice made contact with the MacKenzie clan and has––sadly––been under their protection since. I did come close… but she slipped through my fingers––a mistake I don’t intend to make twice. I can’t touch her just yet… but you have no such protection––aren’t eligible for the kind of protection she has procured.”

Frank relaxed. Claire was safe. He still didn’t know where she was and safety for her would be relative in a time such as this, but she was safe from this man at least. Watching the captain reach over for the razor, Frank was struck by just how little you could truly know about someone from historical records and family stories. Jonathan Randall couldn’t be further from the dashing soldier he’d long envisioned. Whether his rising nausea was a result of his disgust for the man or his own fear at the ease with which he wielded the razor, Frank couldn’t be sure.

“I believe the former Mistress Beauchamp has given you up for lost at this point. Whether she has also given up on your mission no longer matter now I have you here to answer my questions.” Captain Randall moved suddenly at Frank’s bound wrists. With a few quick jerks of the blade, the fabric of Frank’s sleeves were in tatters, his bare arms exposed just past the elbow.

“That will dull the blade you know,” Frank quipped. His mouth filled with blood faster than Captain Randall’s blow registered.

“Why don’t you tell me how dull you think it is?”

Captain Randall lightly touched the blade to the outside of Frank’s arm just below the elbow and pressed down, watching Frank’s expression as blood welled up around the edges of the wound. Frank held the captain’s eye but couldn’t help clenching his jaw. Captain Randall grinned and removed the pressure.

“Seems to work well enough,” he remarked. “I… prefer a tool like this––precise and easy to command.” He gazed lovingly at the razor, a drop of Frank’s blood trickling down the edge of the blade. “More elegant than a simple beating, even one administered by an artist like myself. If you hold out long enough––and I sincerely hope you do––you might have the opportunity to experience my work with the lash. Some of my best work has been done with the cat-o-nine tails.”

Frank couldn’t suppress his shudder at the thought of this man wielding such a weapon. The man’s grin as he moved to his cabinet to remove a bottle and take a preparatory swig chilled Frank’s blood.

“Why don’t we begin with what you know about the MacKenzies and their contacts in the Pretender’s court.”

* * *

“Yer husband––yer _real_ husband––Frank… has traveled through time to find ye… and take ye back… _home_ ,” Jamie recited in stilted speech. He was looking at Claire but she could tell he wasn’t seeing her––for him she was already gone.

“That’s right… at least as far as I can guess. But the Red Coats reached him before I… before I could do anything. And they’ll have taken him to Fort William. I have to help him––you know what that man will do to him.”

Murtagh was shaking his head stubbornly.

“Ye expect us to just walk into Fort William and walk back out wi’ a prisoner? Jamie’s a wanted man and ye’re no exactly unknown to them yerself.”

“I have to try,” Claire insisted. “I owe Frank that much, at least.”

Murtagh’s brow furrowed suspiciously but he refrained from saying anything more, deferring to Jamie.

“You do believe me Jamie… don’t you?” Claire asked finally reaching out to touch his arm.

He flinched but the dazed look vanished from his eyes. He forced a smile and patted Claire’s hand on his arm for a moment.

“Aye,” he answered in a strained voice. “Ye’d have to be mad to dream up a story like that and I ken ye’re no out of yer mind, Sassenach.” He’d paused and got to his feet, pacing a bit before continuing with more resolve and determination. “The man’s yer true husband and ye owe him more than just to try. Ye gave him vows…” He swallowed hard and looked at the ground. “He came to find ye and I’ll help ye to get back to him––ye have my word. I’ll do all I can to see ye both safe.”

He looked to Murtagh and nodded then brought Claire’s hand to his lips.

“Come. We’ve a distance to cover to get to the fort.”


	3. Chapter 3

Claire stood looking at the walls of the fort with a heavy heart, hoping and praying she was doing the right thing. Jamie had been incredibly quiet and distant since she had told him the whole truth. It should have been a weight off her shoulders but it also seemed to be a confirmation of her fears Jamie had never felt more like a stranger to her than in the last few hours upon the road to the fort. He and Murtagh had been conferring but in Gáidhlig, probably so they wouldn’t frighten her needlessly until they had a solid plan.

Getting in itself would be as difficult as either finding Frank or getting out again once they had him.

When they came in first sight of the fort but still had a line of trees providing cover, Jamie pulled up and decided they must wait until nightfall before making their move.

“Jamie,” Claire said quietly as he hobbled the horses. “Can’t we talk about this?”

“I’ve a plan but half-formed,” he said, unwilling to look at her. “I’ll tell ye what I’ve decided as soon as it’s formed. Dinna fash, Sassenach; we’ll get yer man out safe and get the two of ye home again. I uh… I’ll go fetch water for the horses. I’ll think clearer on my own.” He strode hastily away leaving Claire alone with a tight-lipped and disapproving Murtagh.

She’d stood about pacing and waiting but Jamie stayed away.

“It’s a risk, I know,” Claire finally said aloud for the sake of breaking the silence. “But what else can I do?”

Murtagh looked up at her for a few moments and she could watch him rolling his response about in his mouth before finally spitting it out.

“The lad will gladly take any risk ye ask of him––whether he ought or naught––simply ‘cause it’s _you_ doin’ the askin’. I just hope ye ken what it costs him.”

Judgment was heavy in his voice but Claire hardly felt undeserving of it and so kept quiet rather than defend herself.

“I have it,” Jamie declared as he reappeared some time later without the water he’d gone to fetch. “It will be a near thing but with a wee bit of luck, it will work.”

* * *

 

Frank felt cold and wet for a few moment before the pain seeped back into his consciousness.

“Welcome back,” Captain Randall sneered. “This would all go much faster if you could remain conscious long enough to answer my questions.”

“Sorry to be such… a bother,” Frank said around the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek and felt the ragged edges where his teeth had cut into the flesh. The captain must have tried slapping him to rouse him before dousing him with water.

“I can’t decide whether your employer chose you for this mission for your inability to endure the sight of spilled blood––or at the very least, your own,” Captain Randall mused as he used a handkerchief to wipe the blade of his razor and examine it. “Or perhaps you simply know how to induce fainting in yourself and this is your method for coping with the pain. But you know… I will find the point at which the pain becomes too much for you to remain unconscious––it can be a tricky spot to find in one such as yourself, but I’ve found it before.” He grinned and Frank sighed with resignation.

This man would likely wind up killing him and Frank no longer knew if he cared; he couldn’t even take comfort in the knowledge that Claire was safe. If she had only been more careful in her trip to the stones, she never would have ended up in a place like this and he never would have ended up here looking for her. He could feel a small twinge of pride that he hadn’t given the captain anything. He didn’t exactly have anything to give up, of course; or at least, nothing that would have been believed. But he clung to his belief that he was conducting himself honorably and that his supervisors in the intelligence offices would be proud.

Captain Randall retrieved a whetstone and drew the edge of the razor blade along it. Frank refused to look, fought to keep his eyes open and his posture alert.

There was a sharp rap at the door that brought Frank to attention and a look of sharp annoyance to Captain Randall.

The captain gently placed the whetstone on the desk before rising but held the razor tightly in his hand, clearly ready to use it should the knocker fail to have good reason for the disruption.

The same corporal who had escorted Frank to the office earlier quickly saluted.

“Sir, there’s a woman here to see you,” he hastily spat out, his eyes flickering from the razor to an unseen point straight ahead. “It’s the one from the other day––the one came with the MacKenzie chief. I told her you was busy with a prisoner but she insisted you’d want to see her right away.”

Frank went cold and stiff in his chair.

“Thank you, corporal,” he heard Claire respond. There was a rustling of skirts as she pressed her way forward and into the office. “Captain Randall,” she greeted him coldly.

“Corporal, search the woman before you go,” Captain Randall instructed. “ _Everywhere._ ”

Frank tried to glance over his shoulder to see what was happening but Captain Randall blocked his view. Claire huffed quietly at whatever indignity the search entailed and the corporal murmured a quiet apology.

“Strictly precautionary, madam,” Captain Randall explained off hand, “as I’m sure you understand.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less,” Claire replied with obvious distaste.

When the corporal was finished his search, Randall dismissed him and closed the door once more.

“I’d offer you a chair but I’m afraid it’s occupied at the moment.” Captain Randall gestured to Frank. “I believe you’ve met Frank. I haven’t ascertained his true last name yet but I expect he’ll use the same Beauchamp alias you did. Was your original plan to pose as man and wife?”

“Our original plan no longer matters,” Claire said with a frankness that caught the captain off guard and surprised Frank. “Thanks to your interference, Captain, an even better opportunity presented itself. I’m sure the duke will be pleased though you’re lucky it didn’t go the other way. It could just as easily have gone the other way and you would have undone weeks of careful work.”

Captain Randall’s brow furrowed as he evaluated what she was implying.

Claire sighed and looked over at Frank. He could see the alarm in her eyes as she took in his bloody and battered appearance. “Really, Captain. The duke won’t be pleased with this display. He’s tired of cleaning up your messes as it is, but now you’ve gone after one of his operatives. I hope you haven’t done any permanent damage.”

“You’re referring to the Duke of…”

“Sandringham,” Claire said with great weight, “of course.”

Captain Randall’s eyes narrowed, the razor blade twitching in his hand. “Of course,” he agreed.

Claire moved to take a position behind Frank’s chair, placing her hands on his shoulders but making no move to untie him. “He is our mutual employer,” she informed him.

“If you were under his employ, he would have told me,” Captain Randall responded, unconvinced.

“Unless it was never his intention for the lot of us to meet,” Claire pointed out. “Does it really surprise you that the duke would have multiple agents at work in a given area? You’re at the mercy of your posting whereas we––”

“Are free to move and infiltrate at leisure,” Captain Randall finished dismissively. “But how can I be sure you aren’t actually in league with that Jacobite-sympathizing duchess of his?”

Frank snorted before Claire could respond. “The Duke of Sandringham is a _notorious_ bachelor,” he declared with emphasis that made his implication obvious.

Captain Randall clenched his jaw, clearly unconvinced but still wary.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to keep you here in my custody–– _both_ of you––until I can verify your story with the duke.”

“He won’t be pleased with the disruption to our progress,” Claire objected strongly, pacing to bring herself around the desk and closer to the window.

Captain Randall’s eyes continued to watch her carefully and he adopted a posture that showed he was ready to pounce. Claire made sure to keep the desk between the two of them and when Frank realized what she was doing he began fidgeting against his bonds––either he’d attract her attention and she’d understand his meaning or Captain Randall would be distracted and she’d discover the hopelessness of the window as an escape route on her own.

Captain Randall wasn’t fooled however and Claire too ignored Frank’s feeble attempts against his bonds. Captain Randall intercepted her and shoved her back, keeping the window just behind him as she fell to the floor and he laughed.

“If––as I suspect will be the case––the Duke knows nothing about either of you, I will help you out of the window myself but you may be surprised by the fall,” Captain Randall jeered.

At that moment there was a startling thud against the wall by the window and the Captain started before raising his razor toward Claire defensively and turning to investigate.

The window flew open as Jamie kicked it in and knocked Captain Randall back into his desk, stunning him long enough for Jamie to get himself successfully into the room.

Captain Randall came up swinging for Jamie’s head with the razor and a sneer.

“You!”

Jamie ducked under Captain Randall’s arm while Claire scrambled to her feet. She grabbed for a bottle of spirits that sat on the captain’s desk and prepared to swing but hesitated as Jamie grappled with Randall the last thing she wanted was to strike the wrong head.

“Claire,” Frank gasped, pulling at his bonds and trying to attract her attention so she might free him.

His exclamation distracted Jamie, however, and he looked to see what was wrong. Captain Randall took advantage of the moment and raked the razor down Jamie’s arm slicing mostly just his sleeve before reaching the back of Jamie’s hand and drawing blood.

“Gah!” Jamie cried out.

Captain Randall laughed in triumph but it was cut off suddenly as Claire finally swung the bottle and made contact with his skull.

Jamie gasped as Captain Randall’s whole weight suddenly rested upon him. He eased Randall’s body to the ground and kicked away the razor before inspecting his hand. Claire quickly came over and tore a strip of cloth from one of her petticoats to wrap around the wound.

“Had that bottle been any more full, I might have fractured his skull,” she said quietly. “Any emptier and it likely would have shattered.”

Jamie flexed his hand and reached for the bottle, wrinkling his nose. “Not whiskey, but it should do for your man there. He’ll need something to rouse him.”

Claire and Jamie set about untying Frank. She didn’t say much but the sounds of disgust she made as she examined the cuts along Frank’s arms and wrists were more than enough to convey their severity. Most of the blood had soaked into the fabric of Frank’s shredded sleeves, drying in streaks along his skin. Jamie tried handing the bottle to Frank so he could take a restorative swallow but Frank couldn’t hold the bottle; Claire caught it before it could fall.

“He may have some damage to the tendons in his wrists,” she remarked looking more closely at the cuts. Frank winced and Jamie took the bottle back, holding it for Frank to take a drink.

“There isna time to examine it now, Sassenach,” Jamie hissed. “Murtagh will be waiting for us wi’ the horses.”

“I just hope he took care of the guards,” Claire said as she tore more strips of cloth from the hem of her petticoat to temporarily bind Frank’s wounds. He wobbled as he stood and Jamie had to reach out to steady him.

“What’s going on, Claire?” Frank demanded shrugging off Jamie’s hand.

“We’re saving yer arse,” Jamie said harshly. “Unless ye’d rather stay here and take yer chances wi’ him when he wakes,” he nodded to the still-unconscious Captain Randall. He then moved to the door and pressed an ear to it, listening for signs Murtagh had succeeded.

Frank ignored Jamie and dropped his voice to address Claire directly. “Who is he and why is he helping us? How did you even know where to find me?”

“Jamie’s right,” Claire pressed, ushering Frank towards the door. “Now isn’t the time for questions. All you need to know is you can trust him.”

“But why––”

“Because _I_ trust him,” Claire cut him off. “Now be quiet or you’ll alert the guards.”

There was a loud explosion from the far side of the fort and Jamie looked over at Claire who was helping to guide and support Frank. “That’ll be Murtagh. He should have had a fuse long enough to get back to the horses.” He pressed his ear to the door again before nodding to Claire.

She nodded back and left Frank to lean against the wall by the door.

At Jamie’s signal she opened the door and rushed out. “What was that?!” she exclaimed.

“Jones has gone to see,” the corporal told her glancing down the hall in the direction his companion had vanished.

Momentarily distracted, Jamie took the opportunity to wallop the unsuspecting soldier over the head leaving Claire to catch him with a grunt.

They shoved the corporal through a nearby door and barricaded him inside.

“Ye dinna need me to carry ye, do ye?” Jamie asked of Frank who had regained enough circulation in his feet to walk with greater confidence.

“So long as we don’t need to make a mad dash for it I ought to be fine,” Frank said drawing himself up to his full height with only a small wince; he continued to hold his arms loosely at his sides, wrapped in the layers of improvised bandages.

“No promises,” Jamie warned before taking the lead.

There were a few places where they were forced to pause as soldiers roused from their barracks hurried to the part of the fort that appeared to be under attack––a second charge set by Murtagh went off and the soldiers’ pace increased along with their panic. When Jamie was unsure which direction to take he deferred to Claire’s memory of her recent journey through the fort.

“No, we need to take a left here,” Frank interrupted at one point.

“Ye ken the layout of the fort that well, do ye?” Jamie inquired with skepticism.

“Yes,” Frank insisted. “I’ve been here several times before… or… rather, I will have been.”

“And can ye guarantee nothing’s changed in two hundred years? Do ye ken which entrance it was Claire came through or where Murtagh was to gather with the horses?”

Frank remained silent.

“Which way, Claire?” Jamie asked.

With an apologetic glance at Frank, she responded, “Right.”

A few minutes later they had managed to slip through the gates of the fort; Jamie only needed to engage with two guards along the way and Claire was quick to muffle the sounds of their protests with her shawl until Jamie succeeded in subduing them without raising further alarms and drawing attention to themselves.

“There ye are,” Murtagh grunted when the three of them appeared. “We’ve no much time ‘fore they start looking this way.”

“We must get somewhere safe enough for me to treat Frank’s wounds properly,” Claire told them struggling to help Frank onto her horse.

“I ken just the place,” Jamie announced with a nod to Murtagh.


	4. Chapter 4

Jamie pulled his horse up short as they crested the hill and the valley opened before them. They had only stopped twice to rest the horses and grab a bite for themselves. It had been a long and hard ride but they had made good time and Jamie was relatively certain they hadn’t been followed.

“Murtagh,” he called his kinsman who had been bringing up the rear and keeping a close eye on Frank who looked like he might drop off the back of Claire’s horse at any moment. “I want ye to ride back a ways just to be sure we were no followed.”

“Do ye want me to go up to the house on my way to meet ye at the cave?”

Jamie flushed red. “No. I’ll go when I’m ready.”

Murtagh nodded and bit his tongue. The lad knew the danger of being on the property without warning folk he was around. Of course if the rumors were true it could be dangerous for him to go to the front door too. But it wasn’t a fight Murtagh was ready to have yet. It would keep until they were tucked safe away in the cave.

As Murtagh rode back, Claire eased her horse forward slowly trying to keep Frank from falling off.

“Where are we going? To the house down there?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Canna take him to the house––too dangerous, especially wi’ him looking like he does,” Jamie muttered. He hadn’t expected Frank to look so like Black Jack. Given that the last he’d seen his sister had been when Black Jack carted him away, the last thing he wanted was to show up again with a man in tow who looked exactly like him but had clearly been beaten and cut up. “There’s a cave no too far where ye can treat him properly and rest a bit. The soldiers from the fort will check the hill wi’ the stones first thing along with Leoch.”

“But you don’t think they’ll come here?”

“To Lallybroch? Eventually, perhaps,” Jamie admitted. “Randall kens it’s where I’m from and he certainly recognized me. But Dougal and Leoch will keep them busy for a time and they’ll no know about the cave. We should be able to get the pair of ye back to the stones safe.”

Claire looked about to continue the conversation when Frank groaned from his tenuous perch.

Jamie led them downward into the valley and toward the treeline.

It took some careful maneuvering to get Frank down from the horse and on his feet. The uphill climb and rocky terrain meant Jamie was forced to help Frank up to the cave itself.

“I’ll go fetch ye some water,” Jamie said, searching for an excuse to get away from the cave and the sight of Claire with Frank.

“Oh,” Claire muttered, clearly disappointed. “Uh… well, I’ll get started on checking Frank’s wounds but I think he’ll need stitches.”

“Aye,” Jamie nodded. “Ye have yer box there, no? Is there more ye’ll need?”

“A bit of drink for sterilization and to help him with the pain,” she reminded him. “And possibly someone to help hold him still––or at least to hold a light.”

“Ah,” Jamie responded, flushing. “Well… Murtagh shouldna be too far behind. I’ll go fetch him––after I bring ye the water of course.” He turned to go and ignored Claire’s attempts to call him back.

She groaned with frustration and worry. She wanted desperately to talk to him, to explain… but what was there _to_ explain? It was Frank who had no idea what was going on. Grappling with her medical box she returned to Frank’s side.

“Now will you please explain who in God’s name these people are and what the hell is going on,” Frank snapped as Claire began peeling back the improvised bandages gingerly.

“I think you’ve probably guessed at some of it by now,” Claire retorted. The dried blood had seeped into the cloth and dried. She could wait for the water and soak them off but it might make for better suturing if she waited for Jamie, pulled the bandages free in a way that reopened the wounds so she could flush and defect them properly before suturing.

Frank was still looking at her expectantly. She sighed, relinquishing the more appealing medical problem before her in favor of explaining herself to Frank.

“The stones on that hill brought me to the eighteenth century some weeks ago now. _Captain_ Randall was one of the first people I encountered––you can probably guess how well _that_ went by now.”

“They say never to meet your heroes because they’re sure to disappoint,” Frank quipped, then winced as a portion of the bandage tore loose.

“Well Murtagh––he’s the shorter, darker one––he found me with Black Jack and got me away from him and to the MacKenzies. I’ve been their… guest at Leoch since then. I had to make up a story about being widowed and getting lost and attacked by highwaymen on my way to my husband’s family in France––I had to go by Beauchamp given their knowledge of Black Jack––”

“Will you stop calling him that,” Frank requested, pulling his arm sharply away to examine the cuts himself poking gently at the sensitive flesh. “I always thought the nickname a dashing one and now…”

“Now you know it’s in reference to his soul,” Claire finished his thought and reached out waiting for him to give his arm back to her.

“You still haven’t told me about the tall one,” Frank reminded her, reluctantly relinquishing his arms back into her care. “Or why you’re so far from Leoch if that’s where the MacKenzies were supposed to be protecting you.”

Claire was tempted to say something about his tone or constant interruptions but bit her tongue and continued with her tale.

“After the Gathering Colum––the chief––sent Dougal his brother and war chief out to collect the rents from those who hadn’t been able to attend in person.”

“You witnessed a Gathering?” Frank asked excitedly, his frustration and demeanor shifting drastically as his academic interest awoke.

“Please Frank,” Claire snapped in her exasperation. “I had been acting as a healer for the MacKenzies and they thought it would be a good idea for me to accompany the party in that capacity. We ended up encountering some English soldiers and I thought I might be able to get an escort back to Inverness but that all fell through when Captain Randall showed up. He’s convinced I’m a French spy––which you probably know from your time with him––and he wanted to take me into custody. He couldn’t without making some sort of formal request of Dougal. That gave Dougal enough time to decide I wasn’t an _English_ spy and… make the necessary… arrangements to be sure I was safe from the English.”

“So he took the party out of the way and deeper into MacKenzie territory?” Frank speculated without conviction. He was looking intently at Claire but she refused to meet his gaze.

“They can’t compel a Scottish citizen to comply with that kind of order, only English citizens…” Claire’s voice was quiet and she held Frank’s wrists tightly, her grip causing him more physical pain than she intended.

“And how did they make you into a Scottish citizen?”

Frank was going to make her say it. She could tell from his tone that he knew the fastest way to accomplish such a feat––he’d probably encountered accounts of the legal nuances during his research at some point.

“Jamie is my husband,” she said firmly, finally bringing herself to look at Frank defiantly. “We married a little over a week ago. I met him that same day I came through the stones and have treated his injuries on several occasions. We were friends and he’s Colum and Dougal’s nephew. I needed help and Dougal asked if he was willing so we married.”

She let go of Frank’s arms and sat back, leaning against the solid wall of the cave to give Frank room to react. The lines of his face hardened as he digested the attitude of her delivery and sought an adequate way for expressing his anger and betrayal.

“You’ve been fucking him then,” he said finally with cold clinicism.

“Frank,” Claire said quietly, but she was at a loss for what more to say. It had never been crude with Jamie the way Frank’s phrasing suggested––far from it. But even if she could put what there was between her and Jamie into words, Frank wouldn’t want to hear it and most certainly wouldn’t understand it.

Luckily, he had an explanation of his own ready.

“You’ve… you’ve done what was necessary to survive,” he sputtered. “None of that matters now I’m here. We’ll… we’ll go back to the stones and go home. And if we can’t… we’ll go somewhere else––we’ll figure this out together. We’ll go as far away as possible and you’ll never have to see that man again.”

Every fiber of Claire’s being objected to the idea of never seeing Jamie again. Still, there was nothing she could think to say to Frank so she remained silent. She needed to talk to Jamie, to apologize or explain or… something.

“Claire,” Jamie called her name as he approached the mouth of the cave with the water he’d proposed to fetch.

Frank scowled at the intrusion.

“We’ll be able to stitch those up properly now,” Claire finally remarked. “Jamie can help hold you still while I work and––”

“Absolutely not,” Frank hissed. “That man is not touching me.”

“You want to wait for Murtagh?” she asked in disbelief and disgust. “Every minute we wait increases your risk for infection. And it’s not as though _any_ of this is Jamie’s fault.”

Frank looked away, his jaw stubbornly set. If he could have comfortably clenched his hands into fists, he would have.

Claire sighed and went out to meet Jamie. He set the water down and began to build a fire.

“How’s yer husband?” Jamie asked with an enforced calm.

“Which one?” Claire asked half in jest.

“I’m no yer husband,” he replied, “not anymore, if I ever was.”

“I think we’d need an open-minded priest to settle that question,” Claire said, sitting down next to him. “Technically I won’t marry Frank for close to two hundred years. Of course, neither he nor I will be born for another hundred seventy some odd years, either––that also complicates matters.”

“Claire.” Jamie’s voice nearly broke on her name and she quickly shut her mouth to stop prattling. “How is he?”

“He should be fine. I need to stitch and clean the wound before it gets infected.”

“And ye’ll need help,” Jamie observed.

“Yes, but…”

“He doesna want it to be me. Aye, well, I canna say I’m of a different mind myself. I’ll go hurry Murtagh along––he has the whisky. Water’s here.”

She reached out and took hold of his hand, lightly running her thumb over his knuckles waiting for him to squeeze her hand back.

He sighed then withdrew his hand and marched off again.


	5. Chapter 5

The repairs to Frank’s hands and wrists were accomplished in near silence, Frank refusing to let more than a sharp gasp escape him while Murtagh kept his lips pressed tight together and his eyes on Frank.

Following the procedure, Claire gave Frank a sizeable dose of whisky and left him to sleep a while, going outside to join Jamie and Murtagh by the fire.

“He should be ready to move again in a day or two––might be a bit longer if he takes fever,” she announced as she planted herself on the ground next to a wet Jamie. _And he well might_ , she chose not to add, _since he made me wait so bloody long to start_.

But she wasn’t entirely fearful at the prospect that Frank might develop a fever; she was confident that he would be able to fight something like that off in a day or two and if she was being completely honest with herself, she wasn’t ready to go anywhere, wasn’t ready to leave Jamie.

It was warm enough that she didn’t need to get closer to him to keep warm but the impulse was there. Still, she would rather not suffer through him pulling away from her again so she kept enough distance between them to prevent it happening.

“Good,” Jamie muttered, poking at the fire with a stick.

“Jamie…” Claire said quietly, her gaze flickering to Murtagh.

“I think I’ll just go see about setting that line of snares,” Murtagh offered.

Before he could get to his feet though, Jamie was already up and several feet away, fiddling with one of the packs and retrieving a ball of twine. “I’ll do it,” he said firmly.

“Jamie,” Claire objected with more force, struggling against her skirts to get back to her own feet again. “Jamie, please. I want to talk to you.”

He moved easily along the craggy cropping near the cave and down into the thicker forest but Claire was determined she wouldn’t rest until she had said what she needed to say.

“I’m sorry,” she called to Jamie as his form disappeared into the underbrush. “I want you to know that I never––” She only just avoided tripping over him as he crouched to bend some branches and twine into a rabbit snare.

“Ye’ve nothing to apologize for, Sassenach,” he responded in a strained tone of voice. He kept his eyes on his hands rather than look up at her––he couldn’t trust himself to look at her just now. “Ye explained everything well enough the first time and I dinna need to hear it again. Go. Go watch over yer husband and care for him. He needs ye.”

She wanted to smack him, to scream “stop saying that,” but she knew Jamie didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.

“So what you’re saying is _you_ don’t need me… you… you don’t want me…” she stammered instead.

Jamie’s jaw clenched as his hands stilled. “Aye.” It wasn’t more than a whisper and his voice still broke over saying it. “I dinna… I dinna need ye to do any more than go… go back where ye came from and leave me in peace.” He had finished with that snare and so rose and stomped off again, startling Claire.

“So that’s it then?” she sputtered following him again. The branches pulled at her skirts as she pursued Jamie through denser brush. “I’m just supposed to stroll with Frank back to the stones, go back to 1945 and pretend like nothing happened––pretend like I… like we…”

He had stopped and turned on her, his face red and the lines of his face drawn somewhere between pain and anger.

“Aye! Go and make yer life with the man ye chose to live it with. Ye didna choose me when we wed and ye didna choose to come through the stones to this time. So go and make of yer life what ye will and stop disrupting mine.”

He blurred before her as tears welled in her eyes. She looked down and pressed her lids closed, willing them to stay put, for him not to see but she felt one slip along the ridge of her nose and fall.

“I’m sorry,” she said again with what resolution she could muster. She couldn’t tell if he sighed or if it was just the light breeze in the leaves.

“Dinna be _sorry_ .” His voice was softer, gentler. “ _I’m_ not.”

Claire’s head jerked up. “You’re not?”

He stepped closer to her and she thought he might pull her to him, might embrace her or rest his warm hands on her shoulders but he stopped himself before getting that close.

“No. I’m only sorry that… No. I’m no sorry at all. I’m glad… I’m glad to have been yer husband… even if it wasna meant to be for long.” He reached down and took her right hand in his left, his thumb rubbing against the ring he’d put on her third finger less than a fortnight before, causing it to turn until the raised joint in the iron was on top. “Ye’re a good woman––a _kind_ and gentle woman. I couldna have asked for a better one…”

Claire wanted to comfort him, to tell him he would find someone else. The images of Laoghaire waiting for him after he took her beating, of her in his arms that time Claire had found them in alcove together flashed through Claire’s mind and made her blood run hot, her fingers tighten around Jamie’s hand. “I’m glad it was you, too,” she told him instead. “Thank you for all… for everything…”

She took a step closer to him, eager to melt into him, to look up at him and kiss him. But he took a step back and raised her hand to his lips, kissing the ring he had given her.

“Can I keep it?” she whispered. “I know I should give it back to you…”

“It’s yers. It was made for ye and I… I’d like ye to have it. But ye really need to go back to the camp now… please.”

She nodded, letting go of his hand and turning to go back the way she had come. She knew she ought to remind him that she didn’t know the woods as well as he did, that it would probably be best if he showed her the way. But there was a begging in his voice beyond just the ‘please’ and there was a need in her body to be alone for a little while herself.

* * *

 

Jamie turned and started further into the woods rather than watch her walk away from him again. It was impossible to focus on tying snares so he just clenched the ball of twine in his fist and moved through the familiar trees of Lallybroch.

He had envisioned bringing Claire to Lallybroch a thousand times since he’d met her. She would have been an odd and unexpected but wonderful Lady Broch Tuarach. There were hundreds of little places about the house and grounds that he had planned to share with her over the years they should have had together; the barn where he’d been sat on his first horse and where he would have taught their children too; the yard where he’d played with his brother, his sister, and his friend, Ian; plenty of glades where no one would interrupt them as they made love in the grass.

The rough twine bit into his palm as he clenched it tighter, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. If that fool Frank of hers hadn’t come for her… And what had taken him so long, anyway? More than six weeks after she had gone missing and he’d only just come to find her. Claire wouldn’t be gone more than a few hours without word before he would be rousing anyone and everyone to help him find her again. And the way he spoke to her…

With his hand still wrapped around the ball of twine, Jamie pulled his fist back and then swung at a thick but low hanging branch on a tree. The impact shuddered through the bones of his hand and scraped his fingers even as it caused the leaves on the branch to rustle with their neighbors. He looked down to see a few places where the skin had scraped away and blood was beginning to rise to the surface. If Claire saw it when he returned she would insist on tending it. There would be some sort of salve in her little medical box and a clean strip of linen; her hands on his, rubbing the ointment in while she rambled about inflammation and being more careful not to get his hand caught while setting his traps.

Jamie’s knees went weak and he leaned against the tree for a moment. He couldn’t bear the thought of not feeling her hands on him again, of not having her warmth to turn to in the night. He could still remember the details of each and every time he’d lain with her––so many in such a short marriage and yet nowhere near enough to satisfy the way his body yearned for hers. The way her skin flushed when he played with the soft curls at the nape of her neck; the goosebumps on her chest and arms that multiplied every time his thumb passed lightly over her nipple; her hips rising off the bed, off the ground as his hand slid slowly up between her spreading thighs.

She had wanted him. She had enjoyed lying with him, had thrilled in the pleasure he gave her and perhaps even more so in the pleasure she gave to him. None of that had been a lie.

And now none of it mattered.

She didn’t belong to him; she belonged to that man with Black Jack Randall’s face––with Black Jack Randall’s blood in his veins.

He didn’t feel the ache in his fingers as he clenched them tight again and pushed back from the tree.

How much could that bastard possibly take from him?

He swung at the trunk this time.

He’d shown up at Lallybroch and accosted Jenny after rendering Jamie powerless to stop it––worse, coaxed her into going with him willingly and trading more than just her virtue to him; Dougal said she’d borne the man’s bastard child which meant she’d given all hope of a future to him as well.

Then there was his father, dead before his time having watched his last living son flogged near to death for crimes he hadn’t even committed. At least his father died ignorant of the bastard’s abhorrent proposition and the lies that had put a price on his head, effectively stripping him of his inheritance.

And now Black Jack’s issue was taking the woman he loved from him as well.

Jamie screamed as the bones in his hand yielded to the solid mass of the tree but he kept on swinging.

* * *

“Bloody hell!” Claire exclaimed when she saw Jamie emerge back into their camp with his hand a twisted, bloody mess.

“I had a wee accident,” Jamie said, his voice hollow.


	6. Chapter 6

Claire had declared that at least two bones in one of his fingers had been broken; “hopefully they’ll heal straight,” she’d told him scowling and tugging on his fingers to realign the bones in question, then she’d cleaned tree bark and other plant matter from the open wounds on his hand with only a few snorts of satisfaction each time he stifled a cry of pain. Finally she had poured some whisky over his hand, causing him to scream outright, before splinting and wrapping the bandages around it. Jamie’s cries had roused Frank who called for Claire from the cave. She hadn’t emerged since and appeared to be sleeping inside the cave to be nearer Frank who had begun to show signs of the mild fever she’d anticipated.

“Takin’ yer frustrations out on a wood sprite were ye?” Murtagh asked taking hold of Jamie’s injured hand causing him to wince.

“Better on a tree than on Frank’s face,” Jamie answered under his breath, pulling his hand back and inspecting Claire’s handiwork.

“Ye dinna need to stay,” Murtagh told him sympathetically. “If it’s too much for ye…”

“No. I… There isna so much time left, aye?”

“So ye’ll cause yerself more anguish by watchin’ her wi’ the likes of him?” Murtagh sidled closer to Jamie. “I ken what it’s like to see a woman ye love wi’ another man. Even is he a good man, it isna easy and that bugger in there… well, he’s no bad––no like that black-souled bastard at Fort William––but he’s no the best man for her and if she canna see it––”

“Murtagh,” Jamie scolded and shrugged away from his godfather. “It isna a matter of is he the the best or no; he’s her husband and that’s that.” He used his uninjured hand to toss a few more small sticks onto the fire. “And it’s no for the likes of _you_ to decide what’s best for her in any case.” He took a seat again, this time on the opposite side of the fire from Murtagh. From his new perch he could see the cave’s mouth and Claire’s shadow on the wall, thrown there by the single candle she kept lit in order to watch Frank.

Murtagh rose and shuffled over, refusing to let Jamie shut him out as well.

“Lad… the vows she swore to that man in there are the same she swore to you, and I ken she did cause I was there. And I ken the way she looks at ye as well as the way she’s been lookin’ at him. But ye’re right; it’s her choice to make.”

“And I’ll no make it harder for her by tryin’ to pull her in more directions than the one she ought to go towards,” Jamie resolved.

“Then ye’d best go, lad,” Murtagh said, startling Jamie. “You just bein’ here is playin’ with the lass’ loyalties and if ye’re resolved no to let her choose ye, then it’ll be easier on her if ye’re no around.”

Murtagh watched Jamie absorb the truth of what he’d said and saw the clouds descend as Jamie turned back to gaze into the fire. The flames cast warring shadows over Jamie’s face before he finally nodded his concession.

“Ye’ll take her and Frank back to Craigh na Dun alone; I’ll stay here and wait for ye. Then we can… we can head back to Leoch or perhaps away to France,” Jamie resolved. “But I’ll no leave the three of ye here––no on my own land.”

“That’ll do,” Murtagh agreed. “Perhaps ye’ll take a word of advice and go visit yer sister while ye’re here. Ye owe it to her to see she’s taken care of and ye ought to pay a visit to yer mam and da as well.”

Jamie closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, squeezing the fingers of his injured hand and holding on to the steadying throb of the pain. “I’ll think on it. But for now, we’d best take turns keeping watch.”

* * *

Murtagh informed Claire of the new plan for returning to Craigh na Dun early the next morning while Jamie was off checking the few snares he’d managed to set and gathering kindling.

“It’ll be dangerous for the lad to heid back that way,” Murtagh reminded Claire. “He’s no so inconspicuous and there’s the price on his heid should he be caught. I can get ye to the hill safe and I dinna stick out sae much––nor does Randall ken my name or my face.”

“Right,” Claire said with a disappointed nod. “No, we can’t have Jamie risking himself any more than he already has.”

Frank emitted an indiscriminate sound that earned him a glare from Murtagh and made Claire flush with embarrassment and frustration.

“I’ll be ready to leave first thing tomorrow,” Frank declared forcing himself upright. “Unless you prefer to travel by night so as to avoid detection.”

Murtagh scoffed. “It isna wise to travel by night, detection or no.” He cast an appraising glance over Frank’s attire, his bushy eyebrows knitting themselves together into one long, thick line. “It isna so good as a hunting tartan,” he observed while adjusting the plaid that he had wrapped around his shoulders for a bit of extra warmth, “but there’s filth enough hereabouts to get ye closer to where ye’ll blend with the moors.” It was Frank’s turn to flush with embarrassment while Claire pressed her lips together to conceal a smile of amusement. “Dinna need to worry so much about the Red Coats though; they’re easy enough to spot at a distance and we can alter our path accordingly. Shouldna take more than a few days to reach the hill and send ye on yer way agin.”

“That’s a relief. I don’t suppose there’s a place nearby where I might bathe properly,” Frank inquired of Claire.

“There’s the burn where Jamie’s been fetching water but you can’t go in with your wounds like that or you’ll risk further infection,” Claire warned. “I’ll see about fetching enough for you to wash with.”

“I’ll take ye there myself,” Murtagh offered. “Ye’ve no had a chance to wash properly either, Claire, and I think a splash of water could do ye some good––ye look worn to the bone.” He threw an accusatory look at Frank as he guided Claire to the mouth of the cave.

“I can’t leave Frank,” Claire objected quietly as she squinted up at the midday sun.

“He’ll no wander off,” Murtagh reassured her. “And if he tried Jamie will see he gets back to resting safely.”

The thought of Frank encountering Jamie without herself present to keep them civil was not an appealing one but the allure of cool, fresh water and a break from Frank was. She hadn’t had much sleep though his fever hadn’t been a serious one. There was more redness around his wounds and she would be more comfortable with some reliable antibiotics at hand but since they would be leaving the next morning, she was fairly certain further action could wait until they were safely back in the twentieth century where a proper physician could see to things at a sterile hospital.

Murtagh gave Jamie a brief nod before leading Claire away. Jamie quickly looked down at the blade he was trying awkwardly to sharpen with his bandaged hand rather than meet Claire’s eye. She sighed and settled to following Murtagh.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jamie glanced over his shoulder back at the cave. He shouldn’t do it––he should just let the man be––but they would be leaving in the morning and there was little chance Claire would leave Frank alone long enough for Jamie to have another opportunity. He rose to his feet and stared down the blade of his dirk before tossing aside the whetstone and sheathing the long, heavy knife.

“I should have known you’d find some way to arrange for her to be away like this,” Frank remarked as Jamie’s broad form darkened the entrance of the cave. He had to hunch considerably to fit well enough to creep in and settle down opposite Frank. “I’ve seen the way you look at her,” Frank added. Jamie couldn’t decide whether Frank’s trembling was a result of nerves or anger. “She’s explained everything about the two of you and what’s gone on… I can look past it all on her part––she did what was necessary and she’s still alive so that’s something. But you… I should be able to look past what you’ve done since you were ignorant… but all I see when I look at you is the man who’s been fucking _my_ wife and clearly doesn’t want to stop.”

“And all I see when I look at you is the man who would have killed Claire as soon as look at her back at Fort William,” Jamie replied calmly, quietly thrilling at the shock and fear that crossed Frank’s face––Black Jack Randall’s face––at the reference to the successful rescue of a few days earlier. “But I ken ye’re no that man and perhaps ye’ll do me the same courtesy. Besides… I didna come to fight ye––or kill ye, if that’s what ye thought…” Yes, fear had definitely been one of the things causing Frank to tremble, Jamie decided. “I came to tell ye…” He shook his head. “I dinna ken what, to be honest. Just… Take care of her, please… when ye get back to yer time. She’s… she’s a remarkable woman and she deserves to be treated well.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Frank scoffed but without the malice of a few moments earlier. “I married her didn’t I?”

“Aye, ye did. And she chose ye, right enough, so I suppose that should mean something. I just hope ye dinna forget it… dinna take her for granted.”

“Thanks for the marital advice,” Frank quipped. He didn’t appreciate being lectured about his wife by someone who’d known her for little more than a month and clearly lamented the loss of his bedmate.

Jamie’s face darkened briefly and Frank flinched slightly when Jamie moved to rise and leave.

“I love her,” he told Frank quietly. “I dinna doubt ye do too, in yer own way. I want her safe and happy. And if ye dinna make her so… well… two hundred years is a long time to wait, but I’ll watch for her and for you to make sure ye are.”

As Jamie ducked to leave the cave, the light caught him in such a way that it seemed to nearly pass through him like a ghost and Frank’s blood went cold.


	7. Chapter 7

The morning they were supposed to leave, Claire emerged from the cave to wait for Frank and help Murtagh and Jamie ready the horses. Frank had been quieter the last few days and despite her meager efforts to get Jamie alone again, she hadn’t succeeded and wouldn’t have known what more to say to him if she had; she just… wasn’t ready to say goodbye––didn’t know _how_ to say goodbye.

Murtagh was busy loading the horse that he would ride with the necessary provisions for the few days it would take them to reach Craigh na Dun. Claire’s medical kit was already strapped into place on her horse.

“It occurred to me,” Murtagh said, not turning his head from his task as she quietly approached, “I ought to have asked if yer man would be able to handle the reins wi’ his arms and hands bundled as they are.”

“Oh…” Claire frowned in thought. “You’re right… He’ll be able to hold them but not tightly––not enough to direct the horse very effectively, I’m afraid. And he’s not a very strong horseman to start,” she added in a lower tone on the off chance Frank had succeeded in readying himself for their journey. Jamie had sacrificed his coat and a spare shirt to help Frank appear less obviously out of place––though there was little that could be done about his trousers; Frank had no interest in donning a kilt even if there had been one to spare and seeing Frank in a Fraser or MacKenzie tartan had been more than either Jamie or Murtagh was willing to suggest.

“Ye’ll need to have him ride wi’ you then,” Murtagh declared with a nod. “We’ll no need the third horse then. I’ll leave him hobbled wi’ a note for Jamie to find when he comes back later.”

Claire’s head jerked up. “He’s not coming back before we go?”

“Nah. The lad needs to get his head right before he goes down to the house. Ye ken what he faces there, no?”

The home and remaining family he hadn’t seen in four years; it had been one of the things he’d talked about most in the brief time between their wedding and this mess. There had been pain when he talked about it with her and told her what Lallybroch was like. He had been proud when he told her she was officially Lady Broch Tuarach and that he would do whatever it took to clear his name so they could live there without threat or shame.

Now he would be taking that step alone… and with the threat looming over his head more darkly than ever. How long would it be before Captain Randall had his way and the English soldiers descended on Lallybroch again to search for him?

“He… he can’t stay long,” she murmured. “It won’t be safe for him here; it’s––”

“He’ll only stay till I get back to let him know ye’ve made it safe,” Murtagh assured her with an uncharacteristic gentleness. For a moment she thought he might reach out to comfort her in a more tangible fashion but instead his face reddened and he turned back to the ropes that would keep their bedding on his horse. “It’ll be a danger to go back to Leoch after that, too. Might be able to convince him to head to France again––or maybe to his grandsire at Beauly though that’s no likely.”

“I feel absurd,” Frank declared as he emerged from the cave.

The stress of the two weeks since he had inadvertently traveled through the stones had taken a heavy toll on Frank. He hadn’t been able to bathe properly and lying on a dank and dusty cave floor hadn’t done him any favors; a layer of grime helped balance out the pallor left behind by the fever that still rose and fell irregularly. It had affected his appetite so that his already thin face appeared drawn and gaunt, the natural lines about his mouth and across his forehead emphasized in a ghastly way thanks to the shadow of the uneven growth of beard on his chin and cheeks.  Jamie’s coat and shirt were too big and too long even with the remnants of his own clothes beneath. His trousers––previously gray––had become the same muddy brown as the ground he’d been sleeping upon and would continue to sleep upon until he made it back through the stones.

“Ye look absurd,” Murtagh agreed with Frank, frowning as he glanced the man over. “D’ye need a hand to get up or can ye manage?”

Frank rolled his eyes as he strode over to the third horse.

“Not that one,” Claire explained. “Your hands; it could be dangerous for you to try the reins. I’ll ride in front and you’ll just need to keep your seat. Murtagh has most of the supplies so he should bear our combined weight without incident.”

Murtagh gave Claire a leg up once Frank was comfortably seated. She felt him wince as she jostled him, settling herself in and taking up the reins, but a moment later his arms had slipped around her waist to help with his balance. His thighs pressed against hers through the layers of her skirt and there was the unshakable awareness of something at her back but it made her want to lean forward and shy away, untrusting.

“We’d best go lass,” Murtagh said, leading the way down a path that was shallower than the way they’d come. “We’re taking the long way round and staying as clear of the main road as we can get wi’out losing our way.”

“You’re sure he knows where he’s going?” Frank inquired quietly in Claire’s ear.

She snapped the reins and their horse started forward after Murtagh.

“Yes. And I trust him with both our lives. Be sure to let me know if you need to rest; it won’t be easy terrain and it’s more tiring to just sit there than you realize,” she advised him.

* * *

Murtagh had consulted Jamie on the best route to take through the Lallybroch lands, where to cross back into MacKenzie territory, and how to skirt the field at Culloden Moor to get round to Craigh na Dun without exposing themselves too obviously.

Jamie saw the horses carefully picking their way up and out of the valley from his own perch on a rock outcropping similar to the one that concealed the cave and knew that whatever danger he’d been in of breaking down and begging Claire to stay had passed. But there was no relief in the knowledge, only the continued sinking in the pit of his stomach. Surely, whatever it was inside him that was falling would hit the bottom sometime soon; he would be able to begin crawling up and out of this misery at some point, wouldn’t he?

He waited until they had long disappeared before tracing his way back to the cave and the remnants of their camp. Murtagh had left plenty for him to finish clearing up for which he was thankful; it gave him something mindless to do while he waited to stumble across some semblance of meaning. It took longer to clear away the evidence of their fire limited to one hand as he was. Claire had given him instructions for caring for the injury to his hand; he was on his own as concerned his less visible wounds.

Jamie hadn’t expected the horse to still be there waiting but Murtagh had left his note prominently pinned to the horse’s mane with one of Claire’s hair pins.

_Frank cannot ride alone so only need two horses. Will not be able to go fast so four days to the hill. Leaving Dòchas for you. I shall meet you at Lallybroch in one week’s time if I don’t see you sooner. M_

Jamie crumpled the note in his good hand and clenched his teeth, silently cursing his godfather for tempting him like this. Dòchas was easily the fastest of the three horses and with just Jamie to carry––despite his considerable size––it would not take long to catch them up and Murtagh also had laid out exactly how long he had to change his mind.

“I said what I needed to say to her,” Jamie told Dòchas in an effort to convince himself. “It’s no my decision and she’s made hers and that’s that.” He brushed his hand down the horse’s neck then reached for the bridle to guide her down the slope toward Lallybroch. Seeing Jenny again and learning all that she’d suffered in his absence wouldn’t hurt nearly as much as it would have before losing Claire had left him so numb––there was that to be thankful for, at least.

With every step toward Lallybroch, he tried not to calculate how far they would have gotten, how long it would take to reach them if he left just then.

“Jamie!” He heard Jenny’s familiar voice calling and it startled him out of his reverie. He couldn’t see her but he’d distinctly heard her calling him so she must have seen him.

“Jamie, ye rascal,” she scolded––she must be on the other side of the gate putting something away. “Where have ye been and just what have ye been gettin’ into? Dinna look at me like that.” A child’s giggle stopped Jamie in his tracks. “Ye’re in for a hidin’ if ye dinna get inside to Mrs. Crook for a right washin’ ‘fore supper. Go on, now.”

She hadn’t seen him and hadn’t been talking to him at all. Confusion and a place to put his anger pushed him to finally step through the gate and into the yard, his jaw clenched as he saw a small boy with dark hair vanish into the door leaving Jenny behind wiping her hands on her apron while a basket of dirty laundry sat on the ground beside her.

She looked up and smiled, overcome for a moment, before his dour expression sank in and her own brow knitted in confusion.

“Jamie? Is… What are ye doin’ here? We had word from Murtagh that ye’d made it safe to Leoch but nothin’ about you coming home… Not that ye’re no welcome,” she added hastily, her relief at seeing him alive again overpowering her cautious edge.

“And just who might this ‘we’ be?” Jamie asked, his own edge sharp and at the ready. “Ye thought Dougal wouldna tell me about yer wee bastard there? Hmm? At least he had the decency no to tell me that ye’d named the lad for me.”

Jenny’s good humor faded fast. “Dougal MacKenzie?” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “And just what would _he_ ken about it? He’s no set foot here since Father passed and good riddance. Or are ye truly prepared to take the word of our _dear_ uncle over that of yer own sister?” she challenged. “My wee Jamie isna a bastard and that’s the last I want to hear on the matter or ye can turn yer sorry arse around and leave again, James Fraser. We’ve managed wi’out ye for four years and _this_ is the note ye care to return on?”

“Jamie?” Ian called from across the yard.

Jamie’s face went momentarily slack as he saw his friend throw down the piece of horse tack he’d been carrying in order to hurry over faster.

“Yer brother-in-law,” Jenny informed him with smug satisfaction before Jamie met Ian halfway and wrapped his friend in a hug.

“We werena expecting to see ye anytime soon,” Ian commented. “Was it you who was stayin’ out in the woods up near that old hunting cave? I told Jenny I thought I saw smoke out that way but she… Are ye all right, Jamie?”

“Aye,” Jamie croaked and nodded, looking down in an attempt to blink the tears back. “I’m fine. And aye, it was me out at the cave. Something… something happened and I had to find a safe place for a few days––didna want to put anyone here in danger if it could be helped,” he rambled as he turned his back on both his friend and his sister to Dòchas leading her toward the stable around the other side of the house.

“So whatever danger it was it’s passed now?” Ian squinted at Jamie.

“For now. English soldiers might be by in a few weeks lookin’ for me but Murtagh will be back and we’ll be gone again by then,” he told them, for Jenny had followed the men as Ian bent and picked the dropped equipment up again.

“ _Why_ will there be English soldiers lookin’ for ye this time?” she asked none-too-gently.

“I dinna want to talk about it,” Jamie responded with enough force––and obvious pain––to put the matter to rest for a while. “I just… I need to wait for Murtagh.”

He lead Dòchas into a stall passing between Jenny and Ian on his way. Ian shook his head at Jenny and she clenched her jaw but nodded; her brother appeared to be even more altered than what Ian had told her he’d witnessed in France after the death of their father and she _would_ get to the bottom of it sooner or later.


	8. Chapter 8

They rode in silence, only the occasional directions to the horses or calls to break for food or water.

It surprised Claire that Frank was so quiet but she presumed it was because he found Murtagh intimidating and her own silence daunting. As Murtagh erected a small camp for the night, Claire left Frank to cope with being saddle sore and wandered off to gather kindling for their fire. In the woods she realized how different silence was from solitude.

Her heart was heavy and she knew why; she missed Jamie. With Frank riding behind her sharing a horse, it was impossible not to be reminded of those first days after she traveled through the stones and the solid, reassuring presence of Jamie at her back, sheltering her and keeping her warm. Had she ever felt quite that way with Frank? Or was she misremembering all of it? She had wanted to get back to the standing stones so she could get back to Frank since she’d arrived, she just hadn’t succeeded before he showed up there himself. During that first ride with Jamie, she had been in shock and denial about what had truly happened; she had been surrounded by a band of ruthless Highlanders who thought she was an English spy and easily could have killed her.

She should be relieved that this whole ordeal was ending. In a few days time she would be back in the twentieth century; she would be able to soak in a nice hot bath, wash her hair properly, even shave her legs; no more stays or layers of skirts to trip over; bedding with clean sheets and no lingering smell of a chamberpot tucked away under the bed.

And Frank would be the one lying beside her. His wounds would be tended in a proper hospital and then they would go back to Oxford and pick up where they’d left off before their holiday had been so abruptly derailed.

That’s what their holiday had been about in the first place––picking up where they’d left off before the war. Was it possible too much had happened? She tried to think of what Frank must have gone through since her disappearance, the trauma of traveling through the stones and to so quickly fall into Black Jack Randall’s clutches; she had come dangerously close to that herself.

She did understand Frank’s position and she felt for him but there was something more holding her back.

Jamie.

He would be all right without her… wouldn’t he? Did she want him to be?

She scolded herself for thinking something so selfish. Of course she wanted him to be happy… _she_ would simply be happier if it was _her_ making him happy.

But she couldn’t have things both ways; she couldn’t reconcile the vows she’d made to Frank all those years ago––the vows that had sent her searching for a way back to Craig na Dun in the first place––with whatever it was she felt for Jamie.

She carried the kindling back to their camp and started the fire. Murtagh disappeared to see about supplementing their provisions with some fresh meat and Claire took one of Frank’s bandage-wrapped wrists into her lap to inspect the state of the wounds. They were still redder and more swollen than she would like. Prodding gently, some puss squeezed from the edges of the scabbed over cuts. He needed antibiotics.

“You’re still wearing it,” Frank remarked flatly, surprising Claire.

She reached for a salve from her medical kit and began lightly applying it to the infected wound.

“Wearing what?”

With his other bandaged hand, Frank reached over and tapped Claire’s left hand.

Her thumb instinctively felt for the iron band of her wedding ring, her heart steadied by its reassuring warmth on her finger.

She looked back at Frank’s arm in her lap and shrugged.

“Don’t really notice it,” she said dismissively. “Slipped my mind.”

“You should give it to his friend there,” Frank nodded toward Murtagh who was nearly finished with their tents for the evening. “He can return it.”

Claire clenched her teeth and ignored Frank. She could not tell Frank that Jamie had said she could keep the ring because that would show that she _had_ thought about it and she would also feel compelled to tell Frank that _she_ had asked to keep it in the first place.

Luckily, Frank was perceptive enough to drop the subject and instead began expressing concerns about his arms.

“You’ll be fine,” Claire assured him. “Once you get back, it’s just a matter of getting antibiotics for the infection. You probably won’t want to roll up your sleeves too often because of the scars––those are probably unavoidable at this point.”

“Once _we_ get back,” Frank emphasized quietly.

Claire felt her cheeks flush momentarily but continued applying the salve uninterrupted. “You know what I meant.”

Having finished with the salve, she turned to put the jar away in her medical kit and thought she might have heard Frank mutter, ‘Do I?’ under his breath. She ignored him and set about re-wrapping his wrists, the rest of the treatment performed in silence.

Murtagh insisted she and Frank take the makeshift tent for the night.

“I’ll stay by the fire and keep watch,” he told her.

“You’ll need to sleep eventually,” Claire reminded him but Murtagh shrugged off her concern.

“I dinna sleep deep on the moors. There’s not much as might happen that willna wake me wi’ no time to act.”

Claire didn’t bother to argue; she helped Frank settle onto the roll of bedding before stretching out beside him. It was closer than they’d been sleeping in the cave where she preferred to rest propped against the cave wall, afraid of disturbing his much needed rest. They didn’t speak but rolled towards each other. She felt Frank’s lips brush her forehead and turned her face up to his.

There was a moment of hesitation and she realized that she hadn’t kissed him since they’d rescued him; not once. She felt a twinge of shame. After all he’d been through, she hadn’t thought to embrace him or even offer him a loving caress. She had been too wrapped up in his medical care and how Jamie was handling everything.

She reached up now and ran her fingers lightly along the stubble on Frank’s cheek. It was rougher than she anticipated. Her thumb slipped down and traced the Frank’s lower lip before he brought his mouth to meet hers.

She remembered his kiss, the warmth of his lips on hers, and the sureness behind it. She let her eyes close so that when he pulled away, he couldn’t read what she was thinking. He lightly bumped her forehead with his chin, a question.

“We should get some rest,” she whispered, her hands drifting down and lightly rubbing his upper arms. “We still have a long few days before we get to the stones.”

He smiled against her forehead, satisfied for now, then shifted and brought his bandaged arm up to hold her close to him. Her head rested on his shoulder and she felt him relax beneath her cheek. Her body relaxed too but her mind refused to settle.

She lay there entirely awake but unmoving until she was sure he slept deeply. Then gingerly, she moved his arm from off of her and rolled away.

“Are you all right?” Frank whispered. She hadn’t been subtle enough.

“Of course,” she assured him, moving to rise. “I just need to go… you know.”

There was a muffled chuckle from where he shifted himself into a more comfortable position. “That’s something you must have missed––running water and proper lavatories.”

“You have no idea,” she murmured, ducking through the flap of the tent.

Murtagh sat up from his spot beside the low campfire, his dirk in his hand until he recognized that it was only Claire.

“Mistress,” he murmured before laying back.

Claire wandered off into the woods for a moment to keep up the pretense and prayed that Frank would be asleep again by the time she got back.

How was she going to do it? How was she supposed to go back with Frank and be his wife again when every time he touched her she felt the rising shame of betrayal? She wasn’t even sure which betrayal was behind the shame. She remembered how it had been to kiss Frank _before_ , the way it built slowly, the way her body would arch towards him. She remembered but it hadn’t been like that tonight. He had kissed her and it had been lovely but it had been a kiss like any other. She had waited and searched for that deeper stirring but it didn’t come.

There were no visible flames left in the small circle of stones they’d used to contain the fire but the spot still gave off a reassuring heat. Claire found Murtagh sitting again when she returned a few moments later.

“Ye’re bad as Jamie when he’s something on his mind,” Murtagh said, nodding to an empty space next to him.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she murmured, taking him up on the offer to put off going back in with Frank.

Claire stared into the embers of the fire. There weren’t any visible flames but a warm red color ebbed and flowed, pulsing with life. She didn’t notice but the fingers of her left hand were playing with the ring on her right, turning it in circles so the nub where the two ends had been joined orbited her middle knuckle, catching whenever she slightly bent the finger.

“Ye canna choose where yer affections lie,” Murtagh said quietly.

Claire’s fingers stilled but she wouldn’t look at Murtagh.

“But that doesna mean there isna a choice involved in what ye do about it… even if sometimes it doesna feel like it. Maybe… maybe it’s like yer stones.”

At that, Claire did look over at Murtagh, but with confusion.

“Ye didna choose to pass through them, no?” he asked.

“Of course not. I didn’t even know what had happened at first,” she agreed.

“Like falling in love,” Murtagh mused but this time there was something heavier in it, something more personal. A smile played on his lips and the way he stared into the glowing embers was like looking into a memory. He wasn’t talking about her but about someone he had loved once, maybe still did––perhaps that was why he seemed to have so much to say.

“By the time ye realize it, ye’re smack dab in the middle wi’out realizin’ how ye got there. Ye can trace yer path back and ye might come to ken the moment it happened, but ye canna always make yer way back out of it again… I dinna ken anyone tha’s chosen to go back to try to find their way out… at least, none tha’s succeeded.”

“You don’t think it will be possible to pass back through the stones?” Was it fear or hope that she heard in her voice.

Murtagh shrugged. “Dinna ken. Might depend on whether yer heart’s in it.” He looked over at her at last and she felt her face flush, grateful that the dying fire didn’t cast enough light for him to be able to see it.

“Who was she?” Claire asked, turning the conversation onto Murtagh. “The woman you couldn’t find your way out of loving.”

Murtagh looked away again and Claire was about to apologize for asking when he murmured, “Ellen MacKenzie. I doubt I was the first to love her––though, I loved her before Brian Fraser, having met her first… But he loved her the way she wanted… and needed.”

“Jamie told me about them,” Claire explained. “About the Gathering where they met.”

“Aye. Ye can see it, ye ken––no with yerself… no right away. But ye can see it in a man’s face if ye watch careful like… the moment it happens and he has to make a choice what to do next.”

“You saw it with Brian Fraser?”

Murtagh nodded. “Him… and others.” Murtagh reached forward with his dirk and poked at one of the larger pieces of wood, rolling it onto the other side. The smoldering bottom, exposed to the air but not the heat, faded to white ash even as smoke erupted from beneath as the untouched side began to burn.

“We’ve another two maybe three days till we reach the stones,” he informed her. “Best get what sleep ye can. We’ll be needin’ to keep a closer eye for Red Coats as we’re gettin’ nearer Fort William.”

Claire rose and left to join Frank in the tent. He was asleep on his side, his bandaged forearms laid gently one atop the other beside his head. She lay down and turned onto her side as well but with her back towards his.


	9. Chapter 9

“I know where we are,” Frank exclaimed suddenly, sitting up straighter behind Claire on the horse.

She looked around, her pulse quickening with fear. They should still be at least a few hours away from the stones; it was too soon.

Then she too recognized the rock formation in the distance.

“Cocknammon Rock,” she said with a smile.

“You remember then?” There was something hopeful in Frank’s voice but Claire was distracted.

“Of course I do. You told me about the British patrols and when we passed this way on our journey to Leoch I warned Jamie about it,” she explained. “He alerted the others and then dumped me off the horse so I’d be safe out of the way while he and the others surprised the soldiers. I tried to get away back to the stones but he found me again before I got very far.”

She remembered how he’d slipped easily down from his horse and crossed to block her way, still covered in blood and dirt from the skirmish and making no hint as to the injuries he’d suffered. She smiled again. The idiot might’ve died if she hadn’t been there when it was his turn to fall off the horse.

“I see,” Frank said from behind her, his tone drastically different from the moment before.

Claire found herself annoyed with him but held her tongue. Like Murtagh had said that evening by the fire, she couldn’t help how she felt. And Frank certainly wasn’t making things easier.

If Murtagh heard the exchange he didn’t say anything about it, only let them know, “It’ll no be much longer. We can either stop for another night so ye dinna arrive where ye’re goin’ in the dark or ye can go through just afore sundown.”

“Tonight,” Frank said quickly. “The sooner we get home, the better.”

“Will it really be better to walk all the way to Inverness in the dark when we’ve been riding all day?” Claire challenged. “Or perhaps we’ll just be struck by a passing motorist. _I_ think we should take advantage of having someone here to help keep watch while we get some rest.”

“What exactly is it that you’re waiting for?” Frank asked under his breath. “Do you think he’ll come after you? He knows his place in this, that you’re married to me, that you’re _my_ wife. He knows you’ll be better off with me.”

“And what makes you so sure about what Jamie thinks?” Claire countered.

“He told me as much himself.”

That caused Claire’s breathing to catch and her chest to seize painfully.

“You two talked about me?” There was an accusation in her voice but regarding what, she wasn’t sure.

“It isn’t as though we have much else in common.” Frank’s tone hadn’t completely softened but it wasn’t as openly antagonistic either. “You did say he was your friend. He wants what’s best for you and that’s for you to come home.”

Claire could completely believe that Jamie had said those things to Frank; he had said similar things to her. But hearing Frank say them… it changed them, somehow. It made her want to argue, to point out all the reasons she had to stay… but really, there weren’t many reasons for her to stay… just Jamie.

They passed back into silence as they rode the rest of the way finally spotting the hill in the distance as the sun set behind it. She recalled hiding with Frank near the summit of that hill and glimpsing the sun through the crack in the stone as it rose while the local druids danced. She saw the sun again through that crack but with the world turned around and the sun peeking through on its descent, shrouding the world in shadows rather than bathing it in light.

“I’m too tired to face going through that tonight, Frank,” Claire pleaded. “I’m hungry and I want to sleep.”

He sighed while Murtagh pointedly stayed out of the conversation.

“Very well. You’re right; we don’t know how long we’ll have to walk before a car stops and it’ll be safer if they can see us properly when they do,” Frank conceded.

“There’s a wee cottage near here,” Murtagh remarked now that a decision had been made. “It was abandoned last I knew. Might be a sight more comfortable than sleeping in the open.” He looked to Claire who nodded then he turned his horse to one side and led the way.

They set up their final camp in silence and quickly turned in for the night.

Claire lay next to Frank but her mind sought Jamie and refused to quiet. Was she really contemplating staying? How could she even think of doing something like that to Frank? All of it was insane. To think of everything she would have to give up in order to stay––the friends she’d made during the war, the conveniences of modernity, the rights and privileges she had taken for granted…

And what would she get in return? Jamie was an outlaw and since breaking Frank out of Fort William, she almost certainly was too. On top of that she was a woman and English and, as Jamie had told her once, that wasn’t a pretty thing to be in the Highlands of Scotland.

But she would have Jamie. He knew the truth now, about who and what she was; he knew the truth and believed her. She could be herself with him, talk about what life was like in the twentieth century; she could tell him about what lay…

Her heart began to pound and fear gripped her.

Culloden. The Jacobite Rising was just two years away. Would she be able to live with herself if she left Jamie behind knowing how likely it was that he would end up on that disastrous battlefield? If she returned to the future and failed to find out what happened to Jamie––or worse, that he had died in battle…

Murtagh. Whatever she ultimately decided to do with herself, she would be sure to warn Murtagh. If anyone had a hope of keeping Jamie from getting involved in the Rising, it was his godfather.

But she wanted to be _sure_. And the only way to do that was to stay. So why was she so scared to make up her mind?

She didn’t know how Jamie felt about her. She had her suspicions––she knew he liked her well enough––but he hadn’t ever said anything to her that would suggest…

Despite yearning for rest, Claire got no sleep that night, rising with the sun and staring at the hilltop where her fate would be decided once and for all.

“Are ye ready to go back then?” Murtagh’s quiet voice came up behind her.

She peered through the door to where Frank was only beginning to stir on the floor.

“If anything I’m more confused about what I ought to do than I was yesterday or the day before that or the day before that,” Claire lamented.

“Ye’ll do what ye must when the time comes,” Murtagh assured her. “And then ye’ll pray for the health and happiness of the one ye leave wi’out ye. Cannae do more’n that.”

“There is something I would tell you before we go,” Claire began solemnly. “It’s about… it’s about something that’s going to happen.”

Murtagh’s brow furrowed suspiciously.

“You know that there are always rumors of King James returning and taking back his throne?”

“D’ye mean to say he will?”

There was surprise and hope in the man’s face and Claire’s heart sank as she shook her head.

“His son, Prince Charles, will try in two years’ time… but it will end in disaster. You have to promise me that you’ll keep Jamie from getting involved in it; keep him away from Culloden.”

Confusion returned to Murtagh’s expression.

“When ye say,’disaster,’ ye mean the battle’s lost.”

“It’s more than just that though. The Highlanders will be severely punished in their defeat,” Claire explained as best she could.

“The Clans will end as you know them,” Frank chimed in from the doorway, his fingers tucking the ragged ends of his bandages in where they’d come loose in sleep. “Your language, your tartans––both will be outlawed. There will be raids throughout the highlands by the military––made worse by famine.”

Claire let Frank continue filling in the details that she recalled so little about, absorbing them anew herself. He couldn’t have been more precise if he’d prepared a proper lecture with notes. And Murtagh stood there listening and nodding, his mind already sorting and storing what he would need to know most, discarding the details that he could afford to forget.

Would telling a single Scotsman be enough to change the course of history? Probably not. But it might be enough to save Jamie––to save some of those at Leoch, perhaps, as well.

“Thank ye,” Murtagh said when Frank was through. He extended his hand for Frank but then flushed as he saw Frank glance at his bandages again and hesitate before shaking Murtagh’s hand gingerly.

“I don’t know what use you’ll be able to put it to,” Frank admitted. “But it seems a fair exchange for the services you’ve rendered Claire and I.”

“Fair exchange,” Murtagh murmured with a nod then turned to Claire. “Ye ken where ye’re goin’ from here, I take it.”

“Yes, thank you.” She stepped forward and surprised Murtagh with a hug. “Please, keep him safe,” she whispered.

Murtagh didn’t acknowledge what she’d said, just nodded farewell to her as she and Frank began the climb up the hill.

“Has it really only been two weeks?” Frank muttered, picking his way up carefully.

“For you it has,” Claire reminded him.

“Well, I am ready for the nightmare to be over,” he said with confidence, taking Claire’s hand loosely in his and guiding her to the stone.

She stopped when they were still a few feet away, her hand slipping from his easily.

“Frank…”

“You don’t need to be scared,” he reassured her. “I remember how terrible it was but we just have to do this and it will all be over, once and for all.”

She was shaking her head slowly, tears in her eyes.

He took her hand again and squeezed it as hard as he was able. It was enough for her gold ring to dig uncomfortably into her finger.

“Claire… Just… look at me, all right. Keep your eyes on me. We’ll do this together.”

His eyes were brown; he had dirt on his cheek from where he’d slept with it pressed to the dirt floor of the cabin; he needed a haircut and a shave; there was a sheen of sweat on his face and redness in his eyes; his lips were chapped and he looked desperate and afraid.

She raised her free hand the way he had his other hand raised, reaching for the stone.

“On three,” he instructed. “One… two… th––”

“I’m sorry,” Claire said quickly as Frank’s hand went forward. She pulled her hand from his as he held tight and struggled to pull her forward with him.

And then she fell.

She was on the ground, her head spinning… and Frank was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

Ian insisted Jamie ride out with him to look over the fields and give his opinions.

“Ian, I ken ye know what ye’re about wi’ runnin’ the estate,” Jamie finally interrupted as they sat on their horses looking out over a field of flourishing barley. “And it doesna matter that ye brought me out here away from the house and Jenny––I’m no tellin’ ye about what happened. I said I didna want to talk about it and I’m no goin’ to. It doesna matter anymore anyway. Murtagh will be back today or the next and then I’ll be off again.”

“And will ye be sending us as little word of where ye are or what ye’re about as ye did before?” Ian asked with a scolding edge that would have left Jamie feeling ashamed if he weren’t still so numb. “Whatever it is that’s happened to ye this last… it doesna excuse yer silence the last four years.”

“I told ye what Dougal told me about Jenny,” Jamie objected.

“That explains it; it doesna excuse it,” Ian clarified. “Jenny and I will take care of Lallybroch as if it were our own and ye ken that well; it’s been her home longer than it’s been yers. But I think we both deserve a bit of honesty from ye, aye? A bit more respect than what ye’ve shown.”

“Ye’re startin’ to sound like Jenny,” Jamie remarked, the corner of his mouth ticking up a fraction.

“No, Jenny would have called ye a stubborn and ungrateful arse.”

“She already did. Ye were off dealin’ wi’ Ross the smith, gettin’ him to reshoe my horse.” Jamie reached down to pat Dóchas’ neck and the horse stamped her foot and raised her head, shaking it like a nod.

Ian sat straighter in his saddle, squinting in the direction of the house. “Ye said Murtagh ought to be back today?” Ian asked, settling down again.

“Aye.” Jamie peered in the direction Ian had been looking, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

“Was he off to fetch someone for ye?”

There were two riders slowing on the road as they approached Lallybroch’s main yard in the distance.

“Claire?” Jamie breathed, his heart breaking into an excited gallop as he turned Dóchas back the way they’d come and spurred her forward.

* * *

 

As soon as they entered the yard, Claire began calling for Jamie.

Murtagh dismounted and walked over to help Claire down from her horse while her eyes scanned the windows of the large stone building––Lallybroch.

“Jamie!” Claire called heading for the door.

A young boy darted out from it in front of her soon followed by a woman about Claire’s own age, shorter and her hair darker and sleeker.

“Get back inside ye wee––” Jenny scolded her son before spotting Claire and stopping abruptly in her pursuit. “Oh… And… who might _you_ be?” Suspicion lay heavy in her voice and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m looking for Jamie,” Claire said quickly, her attention flitting from Jenny to the child to Murtagh where he had already unpacked her medicine box and had the horses by the reins, leading them toward the stables. “My name is Claire… Claire Fraser.”

“Fraser?” Jenny’s suspicion visibly turned to bewilderment and her focus shifted from Claire to Murtagh.

“Are you Jenny? You are. You’re his sister, aren’t you?” Claire said desperately and with relief as she stepped forward. “Where is he? Where’s Jamie?”

“And you, Murtagh,” Jenny said loudly, ignoring Claire and getting Murtagh to stop and face her. “Where do ye think ye’re sneakin’ off to? Is this lass… is she sayin’ she’s  Jamie’s _wife_?”

From the other side of the yard came the sounds of two horses approaching and Jamie’s loud cries of, “Claire!”

“Jamie?!” Claire screamed trying not to trip over her skirts as she ran towards the noise.

“Claire!” Jamie cried as he was off Dóchas before the horse had come to a safe stop.

As Claire threw herself into Jamie’s arms, the rest of the world fell away. Tears of joy and relief streamed down her cheeks and soaked into his coat where she buried her face. She could feel him murmuring her name in disbelief into her hair as they took a few moments to just soak each other in.

“Why, Claire?” Jamie finally asked pulling back from her to look at her face. She could see the wetness in his eyes, the confusion and the relief. “Why did ye no go?”

“I couldn’t,” she said simply, raising a hand to cup his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into her touch.

“I’m sorry, lass,” he whispered.

“What? No, I didn’t mean… I meant I couldn’t leave you––I didn’t want to. I was there with Frank at the stones but when the moment came… I couldn’t make myself do it. I _chose_ to stay here… I choose you,” she murmured, her hand slipping back into his hair, taking a firm hold.

“Me? Ye mean…”

She swallowed hard against the butterflies crawling their way up from her stomach. “I love you,” she whispered.

There was a flicker in Jamie’s glistening eyes that might have been surprise before he bent his forehead to hers. “And _I…_ love _you_ ,” he whispered back, then rubbed the tip of his nose down the length of hers before kissing her in a way that made every hair on her body stand on end as it shivered through her down to her toes.

They gradually became aware of Murtagh clearing his throat loudly. He gave Jamie a nod towards Jenny and Ian before turning to continue bringing the horses to the stables, his beard barely concealing his satisfied smile.

“Would ye care to introduce us?” Jenny suggested with unveiled impatience. Ian made a noise of embarrassment or rebuke beside her.

“Right,” Jamie started out of his reverie. He gently slipped his hand into Claire’s, twining their fingers together tightly as he led her over to his family. “Jenny… Ian… This is Claire… my wife. I told ye about Jenny, Sassenach; Ian is her husband. We were lads together––and fought in France just after my Da passed.”

Claire reached a hand towards Ian who glanced briefly at Jamie before shaking it and nodding a welcome to Claire.

“And you’re expecting,” Claire nodded down to Jenny’s belly where the subtle swell could still easily be overlooked. It quickly became apparent that Jamie hadn’t noticed. “When are you due?”

“No till after the harvest comes in,” Jenny admitted, flushing under Jamie’s stunned gaze. “Come inside wi’ ye then. Ye’ve been on the road some time, I can see. Will do ye good to be able to wash and get something warm in yer belly. When ye’ve had a chance to settle, perhaps _you_ can tell us a bit about where ye come from and just how ye come to be married to Jamie here.”

Jamie showed Claire up to his rooms and stayed with her while she tidied herself and they devised a story that would hopefully satisfy Jenny and Ian. Over an early supper and with Murtagh contributing through nods and grunts of confirmation, Jamie and Claire fumbled their way through as much of the truth as they dared share. The circumstances of Claire’s arrival at Leoch and surrounding their wedding remained intact.

“We stumbled on some Red Coats––likely those searching for the deserters I’d… disposed of,” Jamie explained, looking to Claire for support. “It was chance as much as anything that Captain Randall wasna among them when we met them but we figured it was likely just a matter of time before word reached him of meeting us and the bodies of the deserters were discovered.”

“We were afraid that the Captain would see it as an opportunity to be seized––pin more crimes on Jamie and take me in as well as some sort of accomplice,” Claire said, her nerves making her talk faster than usual.

“I told her to go to her late husband’s family, that they’d likely be better able to protect her than I could if the price on my head grew… So I left her behind wi’ Murtagh to see her off. I thought it would be safer should I go and perhaps draw the Red Coats after me.”

“But when it came down to it… I don’t know them to trust them and… Jamie’s my husband now. Where he goes, I go,” Claire explained, her focus rooted in Jamie’s eyes.

They were too absorbed in each other to notice the looks Jenny and Ian exchanged across the table. From the set of Jenny’s mouth, it was obvious that she didn’t believe a fraction of the tale they told. But glancing back from the Laird and his Lady to her own husband, Jenny’s expression softened to match Ian’s.

Jamie was an entirely different man from the one he’d been that morning. The cloud that had hung about him since he’d reappeared was gone; there was a light in his eyes and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen him smile so much––possibly not since their brother had been alive. There was a similar light in this woman’s–– _Claire’s_ ––face when she looked at Jamie. Whatever they were hiding, Jenny decided it didn’t matter; what mattered to her was that her brother was home and happy, even if he would be leaving again soon.

Jamie and Claire retired to their room shortly after supper, pleading Claire’s need to rest and recover from her journey––returning from Craigh na Dun had taken half as long in Claire’s eagerness to be with Jamie again.

The door had only just closed behind them before they were in each other’s arms again, tugging at clothes and moving naturally toward the bed. The mattress was suddenly there pressing against the backs of Claire’s legs. She sat and hitched one leg up on the frame so that her skirts started falling away as she reached for Jamie’s belt. His arousal was already prominent beneath the soft, worn wool of his kilt. He took hold of her wrists and stalled her.

“No, Claire.” His voice was low and rough. “No like this. I’ll have ye naked.” Letting her wrists go, he set to work loosening the knot at the top of her bodice. She leaned back on the bed and succumbed to the feel of his hands working over her as he slowly stripped away each layer she wore.

As her last petticoat fell, she moved to stand reaching for the clasp of his belt once more. “Now you,” she told him. From the belt she moved to the buttons of his waistcoat, smoothing the fabric down his torso with her hands first.

At last, Jamie raised Claire’s shift up and over her head then reached up and pulled the pins and ties from her hair until he could bury his fingers in it. She caught his wrist as he traced the curl of one thick tendril from root to tip. Turning his wrist around, her thumb found the freshly healed scar from where Dougal’s blade had sliced the skin. The line it made was clean compared to the rough scabs of the scratches and scrapes from his accident in the woods.

“Blood of my blood,” Claire said quietly, tracing the fine line.

Jamie brought that same hand to her chin, his thumb running along the line of her jaw as her fingers continued to massage the flesh of his wrist and hand.

“Bone of my bone,” he whispered in response before bending to kiss her.

His hands were eager as they ran down the soft curves of her body before tightening around her waist and lifting her off the ground. She clung tight to his back as he bore her down on the bed, settling between her legs but keeping his weight on his forearms on either side of her.

She trailed her fingers up and down his spine, delighting as he shivered. The heat from his body––balanced so carefully above hers but barely skimming her surface––enveloped her and penetrated her, warming her bones as she was aware of the solid heaviness of him between her legs.

“I give you my body,” she whispered, spreading her legs wider and arching towards him, gasping as he pressed back against her and filled her. “That we two may be one,” she finished, her voice fainter than before.

Jamie caressed her cheek while staying still as long as he could within her. “I give ye my spirit,” he whispered, his eyes locked on hers while tracing the shape of her ear and then from her earlobe down along her neck, “till our life shall be done.”

He started to move as he bent his head to kiss her again, capturing her sigh before it could leave her lips.

“Ye’re mine,” he told her, punctuating the statement with a deep rock into her. “Mine alone… mine forever.”

“Yes,” Claire panted in agreement, her fingers digging into the firm, tight flesh of his lower back, her legs twining with his.

“ _My_ wife… my Sassenach,” Jamie grunted, his pace increasing as he drove himself harder and Claire’s hands drifted lower to the flexing muscles of his buttocks, her fingernails digging hard enough to leave marks.

“Yes,” she panted again.

“ _Mo nighean donn… mo chridhe… mo graidh,_ ” he continued in Gaelic.

“Yes… And what about… _you_?” she sighed. “Who… do you… belong to?”

“You, Sassenach,” Jamie said, pressing his forehead to hers as he bit his lip and changed his rhythm yet again, slowing himself to stave off his release until he could bring her with him. “I’m yers… for always.”

Claire cried out as her thighs suddenly clenched around his hips, trapping him deep within her as her self shattered and scattered, leaving her trembling next to the exposed rawness of Jamie’s shattered self. She saw only him looking deep into the very soul of her as the throbbing pulse of their bodies synchronized from the blood in their veins to the breath in their lungs.

The sweat began to cool on her breasts and stomach sending a shuddering chill through her flesh.

This was why she couldn’t go, what she needed so desperately it was worth sacrificing everything and everyone she’d known in her time. It couldn’t be explained, it could only be experienced, and she’d only ever experienced it with Jamie. The recognition in his eyes, the understanding…

Claire raised her head without taking her eyes off of him until her lips met his, tender and warm, a little wet as his tongue darted out to taste her.

“I love you.”

“ _Tha gaol agam ort_.”


	11. Epilogue

Claire lay satiated and warm under the blankets with Jamie. His fingers were tracing the line of her spine and out along her ribs while she had her palm pressed to his chest and could feel the steady beat of his heart still matching her own.

“And ye’re sure there’s naught we can do to stop it coming?” Jamie asked quietly.

“Not the way that Frank talked about it,” Claire explained. “I mean… we could try… but there’s just too much we have no control over. We would probably have to get to Charles Stuart himself to stop it and even then… If the seeds of this Rising were sown back in the ‘15, it’s just not possible.”

“I’d have thought someone who had travelled through time would show a bit more skepticism about what’s possible and what’s not,” Jamie teased lightly but Claire remained serious.

“You’re already an outlaw,” she reminded him. “Do you want to wind up being charged as a traitor? Or worse, lying dead on a battlefield?”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed and his hand stilled on her back.

“Aye, I am an outlaw… and what if this is the only chance I have to get that lifted? If instead of losing, we can help the Stuarts to succeed––”

“You’re willing to take that risk? To risk all of Lallybroch, to risk your life, to risk… to risk this–– _us_ ––our future?” Claire interrupted. She raised herself up on one arm to look him in the eye.

After a moment Jamie’s expression softened and his hand came up to brush the hair back over her shoulder so he could trace the line of her collarbone.

“No… I already came as close to losing ye as I ever want to,” he murmured. “But if we’re no to stop it or change it… We still canna stay here… We’ll need a safe place to go, another plan to see about clearing my name.”

“And a way to prepare Lallybroch for what’s coming––while away from it, apparently,” Claire added, lowering herself back down to rest her cheek against Jamie’s chest. His hand moved to play with her hair. “It’ll be safest for us on the continent somewhere… or in the colonies.”

Jamie’s hand hesitated and she felt him tense nervously beneath her.

“The crossing to France I can manage,” Jamie said with evident embarrassment, “but to be aboard ship as long as it takes to reach the colonies… That I canna do, I’m afraid.”

“It is a bit far for communication with your sister and her husband to be effective,” Claire agreed.

“Aye but that’s not… Ah, ye’ll find out soon enough I suppose. I canna be on a ship for long––canna so much as set foot on one––without gettin’... terrible seasick.”

“Oh,” Claire said in a voice high with surprise. “That’s… useful to know… I guess that means we’ll be going to France.”

“We could go further if ye like once we reach land again. But I do have kin in France that might be willing to host us till we settle. And it’s closer should I be able to clear my name.”

“Where in France?”

“I’ve an uncle at an abbey but it’s my father’s cousin––Jared––in Paris I think might put us up. I stayed wi’ him while studying at _université_. He’s a wine business I can help him with, if he’ll have me,” Jamie told her, his hand beginning to stroke her bare back again.

“Paris,” Claire murmured quietly. “I was stationed in France during the war. Spent some time in Paris as well. It’ll be interesting to see how it’s changed from then to now.”

“Hmm… Jared has important customers… Perhaps I’ll be able to make an acquaintance or two who can help wi’ securing a pardon…” Jamie speculated.

“Would Colum or Dougal know anyone who could help?”

Jamie sighed. “Maybe… Colum kens the Duke of Sandringham… He seemed… _fond_ of me when he visited Leoch while I was there at sixteen… Dinna ken that he’d remember me, though, nor that he’d agree to anything wi’out Colum asking first… and Colum’s no likely to help now I’ll no be comin’ back.”

“And since we directly disobeyed Dougal’s instructions about returning to Leoch,” Claire added.

“Ach. We’ll find our way once we get to France. And we can start wi’ telling Jenny and Ian of the changes ye think ought to be made ‘round Lallybroch to prepare for what ye say is comin’,” Jamie told Claire, his hand drifting further down from her back to linger over the curves of her hip and then her buttocks. “We’ll find a way to safeguard Lallybroch so it’ll be ready for us when we come back. But until then, we’ll make a place for ourselves in France… a place where we can build a future… build a family.”

He said the last in a quieter, more questioning tone.

Claire had last had her courses just before she and Jamie wed about a month before. Though they hadn’t arrived yet, Claire suspected they would come any day; she had already felt the slight twinges that warned her they were imminent and given everything that had happened in the last few weeks, she would have been surprised if she had fallen pregnant. She hadn’t told him much about her failed attempts to conceive with Frank… not yet. One part of her scolded the other for keeping quiet while that part argued that she couldn’t be sure why she and Frank had failed in their efforts. Perhaps it hadn’t happened because it wasn’t _meant_ to happen; not with Frank. Perhaps with Jamie it would be different. She found herself looking forward with more hope than she’d felt in a while. The world was full of possibility.

She smiled at Jamie and took his free hand in hers. “A family,” she agreed quietly, twining her fingers with his as he grinned back at her, drew her closer for a kiss.

But he pulled away at the last moment, his attention drawn to their joined hands. He turned them to try and examine them in the dim light cast by the dying fire. When that wasn’t enough, he let his grip slacken so he could take hold of her fingers more formally, his fingers checking the knuckles of hers until he located her ring finger and confirmed his suspicions.

“Yer ring… the gold one––it’s gone.”

“Mmmhmm.” Claire felt a brief stab of guilt. “I’m not sure where I lost it. I didn’t notice until we were halfway here. The last I know I had it was at Craigh na Dun.”

“I’m sorry ye lost it. I’m sorry ye’ve nothing to remember him by,” Jamie said raising the bare hand to his lips.

“It’s all right,” she assured him. “I won’t forget him…And now he can move on rather than wonder what’s happened to me...” At least, she hoped Frank was all right; wished that someday he would be able to understand why she’d made the decision she had and would find it in him to forgive her. “But you’re my husband now. My only husband.” 

As Jamie cupped her arse and pulled her flush against him, Claire knew she had no regrets. Pushing Jamie over onto his back again, she threw off the blankets so that they were both exposed to the cooler air of their bedroom. She kissed him, drawing him up so that she sat straddling his lap, his thighs straining hers wider as he found his way to the center of her. Rubbing her nose along the line of his, she rode him towards the future they were already beginning to build together.

* * *

He held it so tight, the edges were biting into his palm when he floated back to consciousness.

Frank rolled his head around on the ground, straining to see where Claire had ended up.

 _I’m sorry_.

He pushed himself up onto his forearms, gritting his teeth and groaning against the pain.

She wasn’t there.

He opened his hand and saw it––her ring, the one he had given her. _From F. to C. with love_ , he’d had inscribed inside the simple band. _Always_.

 _I’m sorry_.

He could go back again, he could reach out to those stones––she would still be there, she wouldn’t have gotten far…

 _I’m sorry_.

Tears stung his eyes but he wouldn’t let them fall; instead he screamed. Screamed at the stones that had taken her from him in the first place; screamed at the man she had chosen instead of him; screamed at the fact that he didn’t know what he should do about any of it.

When his throat was hoarse, he stopped screaming and got to his feet.

What would have happened in the two weeks he’d been gone? Would his car still be waiting with his things packed for his trip to Oxford? Or would someone have spotted it? He hoped it was still there; it would be easier to pretend this ordeal had never happened, to change his clothes and continue to Oxford. He raised his hand to look at the circle of gold sitting in the center of his palm. The bandages along his wrists were dirty and needed to be changed. Claire had said he needed antibiotics as soon as he could get them.

He let his hand fall to his side, the gold wedding ring slipping to the ground where he stepped around it and began to move outside the stone circle.

 _From F. to C. with love. Always_.

 _I’m sorry_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the formal end to this particular fic but I'm pretty sure I'll be returning to this AU at some point in the future. For now it's being marked as complete because the original story I set out to tell is finished; if/when I do write more for this AU, I will add those here as appendices or something like that. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and for your incredible comments and encouragement along the way. This has been one of my favorite fics to write so far.


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